Boss?
by McStaken
Summary: When you work closely with someone as long as they have, things can change. Whether you want them to or not.
1. Scars

A/N: I'm back! Who missed me? I'm returning to my first love. Trashing Edward Nigma's good name! Welcome to " _Boss?"_ Where Edward Nigma and his arguably long-suffering lackey Dead Switch get into stupid situations and bitch at each other. A lot. There's also romance in there if you squint _really hard_. Nah, it's basically everywhere and everyone knows it but those two idiots. For those just tuning in: Dead Switch/Deborah Scott is Edward's insane, bumbling, anger-prone, coulrophobic second in command and my personal OC. The "lucky" half-wit that gets to organise the bonkers ideas and plans Edward comes up with and keep the meatheads from lowering the IQ of the whole room. She also takes a vested interest in ensuring Edward looks after himself. It's not as easy as it looks.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Scars.**

Water dripped in the distance. The lower floors of the abandoned tower had been stripped bare of anything of value. The higher floors weren't in much better shape - but they would do for the moment. Rain lashed against the cracked and broken windows in one of Gotham's famous unforgiving nights.

Wet footsteps slapped against the concrete. The swish of damp coats.

Dead Switch did not have much in the way of standards. As long as the building was standing was good enough for her. Her employer certainly did have standards, but with the current need to lay low and not attract attention to themselves, Riddler did not have many choices.

Wanted for escape from Arkham will do that.

A broken mirror flashed as it caught the lightning that rumbled across Gotham and lit up a pale, angular face and thin body. Blonde hair that looked in the darkness to be almost grey and two frowning blue eyes. Looking at herself now, Dead Switch looked completely different to the person she used to be. Deborah Scott - sane, productive member of society Deborah Scott - had left the building a long time ago. Dead Switch watched the half-dozen reflections of herself in the over-large Arkham Security coat she'd stolen. It made her look tiny. The gorillas Arkham employed generally towered over her pretty average frame. Blood was seeping into the collar, making it stiff as it dried. She couldn't tell if it was from her or the man she'd taken the coat from.

She moved on and caught up to Riddler. Edward Nigma was more of a match for Security. All six foot one of wiry muscle topped with a genius level IQ. The coat looked stylishly shabby on him.

The two of them made short work of scouting out the building, determining the fourth floor to be the most solid and insulating. The wind still nipped through the empty doorways and broken windows as they finished the sweep and returned to the safest of the floors they'd scoured.

It had been one hell of an escape. They were both tired, cold, wet - hunted. The important thing was to lay low and take stock. They had done this dance often.

'Sit, Deborah.'

Dead Switch glanced up and reluctantly sat on the rickety stool that Riddler had gone searching for as he slammed the first aid kit they'd taken from the car onto a bloated table and slipped on a pair of latex gloves.

Edward Nigma - genius, thinker, super-villain and her boss glared at her as though she were a particularly troublesome amoeba. 'What happened?'

'Guard tried to stop me taking his car.' She replied morosely. 'He didn't hit me _that_ hard.' She muttered petulantly as the lid of the kit was flipped open. The Riddler tutted to himself and shone a penlight across her left cheek. The half-grin scar she'd been given as a memento from Joker started at mid-cheek and terminated in the corner of her lip. It was healing, but it would scar horrendously. Blood ran down her skin and into the collar of the jacket.

'He burst the stitches.' Edward noted. This new development would not help it's progress.

Dead Switch sighed heavily.

'This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been moonlighting for _Joker_.' He admonished heavily. 'You _know_ that man is a psychopath. What possessed you to even -'

'Harley.' She replied.

Edward tutted again. 'I thought you were smarter than that. It's what I hired you for.'

'She was offering a lot of cash. I didn't know Joker was involved until I'd taken the money. You _know_ what happens to people who don't do _exactly_ what Joker asks them to do.'

'Which is why you should have come to me!' Edward snarled and snatched up a pair of tweezers. He carefully picked dirt and debris out of the raw wound and muttered to himself. 'If you had, perhaps this wouldn't have even happened.' The tweezers were dropped and he picked out a small pack of disinfectant wipes. They stung horrendously across her skin. 'Joker will always be unpredictable. Especially when he thinks he's been slighted!'

'I did what he asked.' Dead Switch replied but straightened up as the tweezers were waved in her face again.

'Stop talking. Now.' Edward snapped. 'You're unravelling the stitches.'

She fell silent and listened to the sound of sirens muffled by the rain as he literally stitched her face back together. Occasionally, she heard an anagram mumbled angrily under Edward's breath.

Why did Joker do it? She wondered. She did exactly what Harley - he - wanted. He didn't care about the money, she knew that. It was like hurting her was an afterthought. A bonus.

It was funny, really. A few years ago, when The Riddler had "interviewed" her for a position working with him, he'd professed that he really didn't care about other people. Lackeys especially. They were there to do as they were told and provide a barrier between him and the outside world. Her job, if she sufficiently impressed him enough, was to provide an extra layer between him and his paid employees. His very, _very_ stupid employees. Dead Switch was meant to be the middleman. Middlewoman. She was _supposed_ to be smarter than the neanderthals he was paying to do his dirty work and he'd made it contemptuously clear to her that he considered her barely a smidge brighter than his muscle when compared to him.

Now he was scolding her for taking a night-stick to her face to bust them out of Arkham weeks after getting her face stitched back together.

Riddler worked steadily to repair what the night-stick had undone. Right now it was just the two of them, fresh out of Arkham. They needed better real-estate, more lackeys. Nigma would want high performance computers and access to his overseas accounts and he most definitely wanted a new suit but until he threw a tantrum over it, Dead Switch wasn't about to play psychic and guess what he wanted, either. Nigma was known for changing his suit more often than his riddles. Just as long as it wasn't that hideous lycra number he'd worn, once. She could have thanked Bats for trashing that one.

There weren't even any beds left up here. Just a mouldering couch, the table, stool, and the floor. Deborah Scott knew where she was likely to end up. It had been a long, painful night and now that the adrenaline of escape was wearing off, her face was starting to hurt. She doubted she would get much sleep.

Finally Edward finished his ministrations and snarled 'Don't talk until the bleeding has stopped, imbecile.'

She glowered at him and ignored the way he fell heavily onto the musty old couch. 'Tomorrow, we start.' Riddler yawned. 'Tonight has been _ignighters ten._ '

Interesting. To say the least, Dead Switch mused. She glanced over to the boss and watched as he swung his legs up and over the couch, getting comfy. Riddler shifted and then shed himself of the coat he purloined while escaping. It hit Dead Switch in the chest and almost knocked her off the stool.

'Get some sleep. I need you and your useless brain working on our problems. I shall suffer no complaints of tiredness.' He chided.

Unbidden, Dead Switch smiled. It hurt like Hell, but it was involuntary. She wadded up Riddler's coat and used it as a pillow, her own coat as a blanket. Tomorrow was a new day.


	2. Out of the fire

**Chapter 2: Out of the fire.**

Edward Nigma was handcuffed in a chair, listening to the hum of the precinct and trying not to irritate his nose. Why did Batman always aim a punch for his nose? It was already crooked, it wasn't like breaking it for a fifth time would do anything special.

Bullock, the fat, angry, asshole was hovering beside Edward like a mother hen, eager, perhaps, to ensure that The Riddler did not so much as wipe his nose without him knowing. Wanting to keep him right there until he was hauled off to Arkham. Edward would be flattered about the paranoia that he may just disappear in a puff of smoke if he hadn't taken a beating by the winged menace.

It rankled to him that Batman now did not even bother dropping him into Arkham's _loving_ hands personally anymore. He simply delivered him to the police and let them babysit the supervillain while the transport truck arrived from Arkham.

Edward was not happy at this development. However, Batman had been thorough at removing all of his toys - and he'd left him dangling from a lamppost outside of the GCPD doors for the police to collect. Like a _package_.

'You'll never see daylight again, Nigma.' Bullock taunted him. Edward snorted. Blood splattered down his shirt and joined the rest that his shirt had already collected. It irritated his nose and that hurt. He would, however, bet money that he would be back out and causing mayhem in six months. Nine, tops. 'Something funny, Nigma? You know if it weren't for the commish-' He paused as he heard the screeching of tyres and stood back smugly. 'Sounds like your ride's here, Riddler.'

No...that didn't sound like the asylum truck - it sounded like a car. Even over the hubbub of the precinct he could hear that much.

The noise in the precinct dipped noticeably as everyone turned to the doors. They were expecting asylum technicians in jumpsuits, flanked by guards - instead one lone blonde entered the room. Edward was surprised. Dead Switch, by his own calculations, should have gone to ground. Instead, she'd walked into a room _full_ of cops who would happily take her down.

Guns were being pulled as she raised her arms and smirked. 'Hi. Pick up for Riddler?'

'What the f-' Bullock grunted and glared down at Edward's unabashedly grinning face. 'What is this, Nigma?'

'You know, I honestly have no idea.' He replied. 'I certainly never put this into action. But it's an interesting puzzle isn't it, Bullock?'

Harvey Bullock scowled and clamped a hand on Edward's shoulder. 'Dead Switch. Hands on your head. You are under arrest for kidnap, murder, extortion, aiding and abetting -' He paused when she uncurled one fist. It had something in it - a remote.

'Sorry Bullock, no arrest today. You're letting Riddler leave with me.'

'Why the hell would I do that?' Bullock spat, the fingers now digging painfully into Edward's shoulder to keep him seated.

In response - Dead Switch flipped a switch on the remote in her hand. There was a second of silence before the building rattled alarmingly. Car alarms were blaring somewhere in the city. The tense silence in the precinct was shattered by phones across the room blaring into life. Dozens of them rang without being answered as the reality of what she'd just done sank in.

 _She'd blown a bomb. Somewhere, out in Gotham, a building was burning._

Edward closed his eyes and leaned his head back with a smile.

The explosion was enough to draw Commissioner Gordon from his office and into the standoff. 'What is going on here?!' He demanded.

'It's really simple,' Switch replied in the silence. 'I've rigged some explosives in civilian homes around the city. Every time you refuse to release The Riddler to me, I will detonate one. What you just heard was detonation one. We can play this game again and again until I get my way.'

His head came forward and he began to laugh. Edward had to admit, he didn't expect this play from his lackey. It was ingeniously simple and seemingly effective. The idiots in the GCPD were glancing fearfully at each other, probably wondering the same thing that had crossed Edward's mind. _Did Deborah Scott have enough bombs to follow through on that threat?_

Edward didn't know the answer to that. Normally that would have enraged him, but he was in too much of a giddy, amused mood right now to interrupt her.

The detectives surrounding them were silent and tense, all eyes staring at the detonator in her hand. One wrong move and possibly a dozen families lives could be shattered in one fell swoop. Dead Switch had all the cards. 'Bullock! A word.' Gordon called from on high. The portly detective let loose a few mumbled curses but the painful hold on his shoulder disappeared.

He could hear them talking above him as Edward watched a very different Dead Switch. Normally, Dead Switch would not be this confident - or this authoritative. She would not make demands - that was his job. The detonator in her hand was familiar - it was a Dead Switch special. Where had she gotten the bom- the stash. She'd accessed the stash of weapons and technology he housed with certain squawking associates. He still couldn't make up his mind if this was an exercise in futility and wastefulness or an insanely genius plan to get him out of Arkham before he even arrived there.

'Commish you can't-' Bullock wheedled above him. 'Just give the order to shoot! Doesn't even have to be the head!' Insanely genius seemed to be winning.

'Have you read that woman's file, Bullock?'Gordon questioned. 'She has a dead man's switch built into everything she makes. If she lets go of that remote, all of those families could die.'

'You don't know that!' Bullock returned.

'No, but I'm not about to risk lives over it, either.'

Edward listened for a few seconds before his eyes flicked over to Dead Switch. He knew, of course, that this was the case. It was built into his computer database, his traps, his accounts - if there wasn't someone there, actively completing the circuit for a certain length of time, things would happen. It could be called her signature move. Batman was highly aware of how she earned her moniker, and, apparently, so was Gordon.

The GCPD wasn't _completely_ full of incompetents, then.

Deborah grew impatient and flicked another switch. Another tremor rocked the precinct and put paid to the argument happening above Edward's head. 'Stalling won't help you.' She chided in the tense silence. 'Riddler. Uncuff him.'

He chuckled to himself. This new Dead Switch was an oddity, indeed. Clearly willing to do whatever it took to force them to agree.

'We will.' Gordon agreed hastily as Bullock fumed beside him. 'But I want something first. I want the addresses where you've planted all these bombs.'

A pale eyebrow quirked. 'I don't think you know how this works, Commissioner. You don't get to make demands.' She warned him as her finger strayed to the third switch.

'We're willing to give you Riddler - we just want something in return.' Gordon replied desperately. 'Work with us and you get what you want.'

Dead Switch sighed heavily. Her other hand uncurled to reveal a USB. 'I have them on this drive. You'll get it when Riddler is uncuffed. I will give you the password when we're out of the building.'

'Maybe we could do this a different-' Gordon began.

Dead Switch activated the third bomb. The shockwaves were closer than the last two. Glass shattered somewhere deeper in the building as dust rained down. 'This isn't a game, Gordon. I thought you were clever?'

Ouch. She had clearly spent too much time around him. It was something he'd been thinking. For a second, nobody moved. Edward waited expectantly for the only move the GCPD could make. They couldn't stall, negotiation had failed and Batman was apparently a no-show right now.

'Release the prisoner, Bullock.' Gordon eventually replied.

'What - we actually negotiating with _terrorists_ now?' The detective shot back.

'We don't have a choice.I won't risk more innocent people.'

Bullock grumbled and lumbered down the stairs towards the chair Edward had been stuffed in. Edward helpfully leaned forward for Bullock to uncuff him and resisted the urge to say something inflammatory to really rub salt into the wound. He recognised that Bullock was only a hair's breadth from shooting him anyway and Edward was already in enough pain without adding "bullet-wound" to the list.

With his hands free, blood was once again rushing through his arms. They felt warm to his touch and Edward touched his nose gingerly. It would have to be properly aligned again, soon. As soon as the swelling came down. Nothing a little ice couldn't fix.

'We've kept up our end of the bargain.' Gordon called. 'The list. Please.'

Switch waited until Edward had passed her on the way to the doors and tossed the tiny flash drive to the floor as she walked out.

There was a car - most definitely stolen, Dead Switch did not have a driver's licence - parked haphazardly in front of the building. It blipped as they approached. Edward could smell smoke and ash in the air as he opened the passenger side door and slid into the seat. Today was turning out to be an interesting day, despite his losses. Nobody was following them out of the precinct and most emergency services were across the city dealing with the aftermath of Deborah's bombs.

He turned to glance at his lackey as he clipped in - seatbelts were important and saved your life. Especially when your driver does not, in fact, obey the rules of the road - and wondered where this little spark of creativity had come from. He'd never known Dead Switch to take charge like that. In response to his look, Deborah threw the car into gear and ran over the pavement in order to turn the car around.

'I can't say I'm not _grateful_ for the timely rescue,' Edward said in the silence and adjusted his cuffs expertly. 'I detest Arkham. So I will look over this aberrant behaviour in lieu of a thank you. Are you going to give them the password?'

Dead Switch smirked - with the scar emanating at her lip it extended far beyond what it could and should have. A phone in the glove compartment trilled urgently. 'Can you get that?' She asked him as they hit the motorway.

It had been a strange day of reversed fortunes all around for Edward Nigma at this point - surprisingly, he was enjoying this. He acquiesced and reached for the phone. It was a text. 'Lockdown failed?' He asked.

Dead Switch flicked open the case to the largest button on the remote. 'Well that took them less than I thought it would.'

Edward blinked. 'You weren't going to give them the password at all, were you?' He asked in amazement. 'You knew they'd try to break in much faster.'

'Counted on it.' She replied.

'There wasn't anything in that USB, was there?' Edward sat back and smirked.

'Absolutely nothing.' Dead Switch replied and pressed the button. The ensuing shockwave was enough to shake the car and crack the road ahead of them as - one by one - the rest of the bombs detonated. Cars slipped and slid on the road as Deborah coolly and effortlessly swerved around them. 'That ought to keep them busy for a while and the damn bat shouldn't be gunning for us for another hour.'

Edward Nigma suddenly had a whole new respect for his loyal lackey. 'And you've calculated this, how?' He asked.

'From what I heard, he was chasing Ivy across the city. The explosions will create _plenty_ of victims that need his help and by the time he finds the GCPD with their heads up their asses and find out this was _my_ doing, we could be anywhere.'

Edward laughed and settled back into his seat. Chasing Ivy - that would explain why he'd pawned Edward off on the GCPD. He sincerely doubted that the dork menace would make the same mistake again in future.

Perhaps Dead Switch had learned some things from him after all.

* * *

A/N: Dead Switch is fully capable of autonomous thought - to Riddler's irritation. He pays her to help _him,_ after all. And it only took Bats 45 minutes to work out what had happened and catch up to them. He was not in the best of moods. Edward got one thing right, though. He never did leave either of them in the GCPD's hands again while the other was running loose. He did, however, start locking them in the car while he dealt with other people. He has the decency to leave the air-con on, though. He's not a _monster_.


	3. Insanity

**Chapter 3: Insanity**

The warehouse Riddler had taken over rang out with a rhythmic sound of metal on metal. Edward Nigma was famous for his insomnia, going days and days with the bare minimum of sleep. Hired thugs learned early on to never be around his base of operations unless specifically ordered - because when Riddler was working - so were you.

In between each hit there was a slew of curse words and anagrams.

Some people - however - could not find a convenient reason to sneak away from the "lair" to get a decent amount of sleep. Dead Switch was the point of contact for many of the hired help and often stuck close to Riddler to be able to meet his demands. She had no escape from the rhythmic destruction.

 _Wham._

'This time. This time - arrogant, useless, inferior dark knight-!'

 _Wham._

'You're cheating - I know you're cheating. Ninny ago, dis put, om ron -'

 _Wham._

She couldn't take it. He'd been like this for days. This was getting dangerously close to that Christmas where he'd become delirious and she'd had to tie him to the bed to get him to actually sleep. That had taken six hours and Edward's attempts to escape - plus attempts to completely destroy her self-worth for pulling a stunt like this - they pulled no punches.

Dead Switch did not want to do that again. She wouldn't say she worried for him - maybe she did, in a way. If he wasn't thinking clearly - wasn't at 100% - then the plan was in danger. If the plan was put into effect wrong, then it would fail. Nigma would be furious with himself and with her for not taking steps to stop it. That was all. That was _it._

 _Wham._

'- You wouldn't know _dork knight_ \- What lives on it's own substance and dies when it devours itself?' Edward hissed as she came around the corner. He was using a sledgehammer to mould a particularly large piece of metal into shape.

'A candle.' She answered and Edward rounded on her, the sledgehammer ready to go but paused as he realised who it was. He'd stripped off to his undershirt - it had grown filthy and damp with sweat from the work going on around him. Smears of oil and dirt covered his face. He looked exhausted. She knew that she should not have let this go as far as it had. Should have insisted on him taking a break much earlier than now.

'Dead Switch.' Riddler hefted the sledgehammer in his hands. There were dark circles under his eyes, his skin looked pallid despite the work he'd been doing. 'How did the meeting with Penguin go?'

She frowned. 'Boss, I had that meeting two days ago.'

'What?!' He demanded. 'No, that can't be right.'

'Maybe it's time to down tools, huh?' She asked gently and moved cautiously towards him like he were some sort of frightened yet dangerous animal. 'Everyone's tired. We're ahead of schedule.'

'No. Absolutely not. I refuse - not until Batman is -'

'Riddler, you trust me, don't you?' She reminded him as she moved closer. 'You take my advice under consideration. I've stalled Batman for you, negotiated for you-'

'Yes, yes you have.' He agreed with a slow exhale. 'You don't need to remind _me_ of your loyalty.'

'Okay. It's my professional opinion as your chief moron, that it's time to put the sledgehammer down and go to bed for an hour.'

'No!'

She sighed irritably. 'Edward-'

He hefted the sledgehammer at her again and snarled 'I refuse, as long as Batman is out there - thinking he's bested me - I will work to prove him wrong!'

'You're not thinking straight, Riddler.' Dead Switch warned him. 'You need to take a break.'

'No! Go do something productive you irritating pest!' He snapped. 'My mind is as sharp as ever!'

'Really?' Deborah Scott asked. She latched onto the window of opportunity Edward had presented. 'Okay. If it's as sharp as ever, please boss, tell me a riddle I'll not be able to answer and I'll leave you alone.'

Edward huffed a laugh. 'Fine. I will play your stupid game. _What can travel the world while staying in a corner?_ '

'A stamp.' She shrugged to his irritation. A scowl pulled at his face.

'Too easy. _If you have me, you want to share me. If you share me, you haven't got me. What am I?_ '

'A secret.'

'Are you _cheating?!_ ' Edward raged.

'No boss.' She replied and reached out for the sledgehammer. 'You're just overtired. You need to-'

'Forward I am heavy, but backward I am not. What am I?' Edward demanded as he wrenched it back.

She sighed. 'The answer is a ton. A ton is heavy, spelled backwards is not.'

Riddler twitched - as though the thought that someone like her - an almost complete waste of oxygen and resources - could work out his riddles was beyond comprehension. She really should have gotten him to go to bed days ago.

'Cheating little -' He raged and moved back with the sledgehammer.

'Boss? Edward?!' Deborah pleaded. 'C'mon - just put it down. Don't make me get Mannie and Zowie in here and -'

'I'll show you who needs to take an hour!' Edward snapped and pulled the hammer above his head as Switch paled.

'Motherf-'

The skylight came crashing down in a hail of glass and a _bat_. Both fugitives paused at the sudden intrusion. When Batman became apparent, they decided to focus on the intruder rather than each other. 'Perfect.' Edward spat. 'We have a bat infestation. Kill him!'

Edward usually hated using brute force to "win" but he seemed to have parted ways with sanity since the loss of sleep. Switch knew that he really wanted an intellectual victory over him - not a physical one - but in his current mood she was really loathe to say no. When confronted with a beating by Batman or by Edward she had to consider that at least Batman did not have a sledgehammer and a sadistic streak a mile long - assuming of course, you didn't end up in his infamous Inverted Takedown. That was murder on your ankles and left you with a week-long headache. You'd also still be alive at the end of it - Riddler on the other hand had no such compulsion. Everyone was replaceable. Everyone was expendable. Everyone but him.

'Riddler-' Batman growled. 'Come quietly.'

'You called him, didn't you, Deborah!' Riddler snapped and glared dementedly at Dead Switch.

'Wha- Boss!' She begged him. 'I did not call Bats down on us because you wouldn't take a nap!'

'Then why is he _here?!_ ' Edward's whine morphed into a snarl. 'I'm not ready!' He swung the sledgehammer at Batman but the caped menace simply grabbed the handle and pulled the overtired, tantruming rogue to him.

'You sent me a condescending riddle, Nigma, with GPS attached.' He growled and punched Edward in the face. Switch was pretty sure Riddler was snoring before he hit the ground.

Ohhhh shit. He'd made a mistake because he was tired. She hadn't been there to stop him, either.

Batman turned to her as he dropped the sledgehammer to the ground. It made a final _wham_ as it struck the concrete.

'Dead Switch-'

'I'll come quietly?' She offered. It was better than being beaten black and blue before being hauled in - and the objective was somewhat fulfilled. Edward was sleeping. Well, unconscious.

And she had no desire to be in medical with him when he woke up.

* * *

A/N: It's well considered that Riddler has insomnia. Part of Switch's job is to ensure things like this _don't_ happen. Sometimes, she lets things go too far and situations like this arise.

Nigma's also a fairly abusive prick when he wants to be. I'm not gonna sugarcoat it.


	4. Couples Therapy

**Chapter 4: Couples therapy**

Doctor Joseph Rutherford was a new hire at Arkham. There to "shake things up with the staff" and "ease patients" in his own words - a required hire from the mayor's office itself to "help" Arkham Asylum deal with it's backlog of patients. Perhaps that was why Director Strange had given him these particular patients. Strange hated interference in his asylum. Perhaps he knew the mayors office suspected something.

Edward Nigma was well known to play games with his psychologists until they retired from the stress or - more often than not - became a patient themselves. Deborah Scott was known as a classically volatile inmate who had already put 3 psychologists on compassionate sick-leave. They were known to associate frequently with each other both in and out of Arkham. Nobody, as of yet, had discovered how they were communicating while in separate cell-blocks. But that would come later, for now Rutherford hoped to be the first to break the wall of silence surrounding them in an explosive way. His first success in the asylum. He had devised - and obtained - special permission from Director Strange himself, to conduct a dual therapy session with these two patients.

Both were now sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs in front of his desk.

'You didn't know each other until Arkham, is that correct?' Rutherford began. Neither said a word, both seemingly waiting to see exactly what kind of psychologist he was before they decided how to react. Nigma looked at him as though he were some plebeian life form he had recently discovered that did nothing but talk - Scott looked bored. 'This is a mandatory session.' Rutherford reminded them. 'The object of these referrals is to help you.'

'You're new here, aren't you?' Edward Nigma smirked. 'I can always tell. Are we your first patients, Doctor Rutherford?'

'I am new. Does that concern you, Mr Nigma?' Rutherford asked.

'No, it'll just be more fun to break your fragile little psyche. The other psychiatrists here, they've already been brow-beaten. They know they can't win.' Edward chortled.

'These sessions aren't about winning or losing, Mr Nigma. They're about helping you.'

'What makes you think _I_ need _your_ help?' Edward Nigma wondered. 'I've never lost a battle of wits with you people. I am a genius.'

'Why don't I begin by telling you both what I have on file?'

'Enlighten us, doctor.' Edward replied. 'I am very much looking forward to seeing what you ingrates have written on my psyche.'

'You're crazy, I'm crazy.' Scott replied in the same bored tone.

'Ms Scott has a tendency to become quite irate and stubborn about questions pertaining to you - Mr Nigma. She deflects questions on you and your habits by means of threatening. Her last psychologist actually quoted her telling her that she would "Ram that clipboard down her throat so hard she'd be defecating her stupid questions for the next month".' Rutherford frowned. 'Did you say that, Ms Scott?'

'I said _shit_.' She replied. 'I said she'd be _shitting_ her stupid questions for the next month.'

'Hardly eloquent.' Nigma admonished the smaller blonde. 'I could have come up with a better insult in my sleep. I have, in fact.'

'She was asking for it.' Scott shrugged. 'And I didn't like her. Shame I didn't get to vent all my feelings.'

'Was that the one you put in the hospital for a month?' Edward replied. 'I admit, it was an amusing distraction but I never did work out where you got the corkscrew from.'

Rutherford coughed and tried to avoid looking as uncomfortable as he clearly felt. 'Yes, well, Mr Nigma - when asked about his associates - simply referred to them as "Darwin Award winners, all" do you think that includes you, Ms Scott?'

' _That_ is an eloquent insult.' Edward continued. 'I hope you're taking mental notes, my genius must be recorded.'

'Do you think Mr Nigma purposefully includes you in these insults, Ms Scott?' Rutherford repeated as Nigma threw him a particularly angry look at being interrupted.

'Probably.' She replied.

'Definitely,' Nigma interrupted.

'Are you not upset by that, at all?' Rutherford coached, pen eagerly on paper, ready to write down a response.

'Edward is smarter than me.' She conceded. 'And you, and everyone in this asylum. He's smarter than the top 15% of the population.' Beside her, Nigma smirked, his ego stroked at her admittance. 'I'm not upset, it's fact.'

'Is that why you allow him such leniency?' Rutherford probed. 'He has gotten you into quite a few situations that are - besides unhealthy - a danger to life.'

'No - it's because he's _the boss_.' She hissed.

'Interesting. That brings us to our next portion of the therapy session.' Rutherford smiled. 'I have heard many theories about your relationship by former psychologists. However, I am very interested in one particular theory - Would you describe your relationship with each other as a folie a deux?'

'A madness shared by two? Please, Doctor. You'll need to do better than that.'

'That is the most popular theory Mr Nigma. It has also been applied to the man known as Joker and Ms Quinzel, interestingly enough. If you'd like to correct the record-'

'I tolerate Dead Switch. She tolerates me.' Edward replied. Beside him, Deborah nodded. Clearly, it was the way it has always been.

'But you have both shown violent tendencies to people you do not tolerate and usually act in tandem. My former colleagues being a case in point. That speaks to me of a shared psychosis.'

'I don't riddle.' Dead Switch pointed out.

'No, but you have been known - by several witnesses - to answer them.'

'The easy ones.' Edward gloated. 'I try to teach, but you can't move past stupid.'

Rutherford cleared his throat. 'Moving on, Mr Nigma - you have a quite famous dislike of people who believe they are on first name basis with you. In fact, to date, I know of only two people who _are_ on a first name basis with you. One is the enigmatic Doctor Jonathan Crane. It has to be said, Scarecrow is certainly on your intellect level-'

Riddler snorted as if Scarecrow could ever be on par with him.

'-The other is your associate. Deborah. Why do you think that is, Mr Nigma?'

Edward suddenly looked unhappy. Rutherford was frustrating Edward Nigma's ability to toy with him - and he hoped that this frustration would lead to some enlightening comments. Nigma's smile was brittle and he attempted to cover up his anger with a playful 'One has nothing to do with the other, Rutherford.'

'Does it not?' The psychiatrist leaned forward, over the desk as though interested. 'Please, Mr Nigma, enlighten me. Tell me how it doesn't. You tell me that there are two different tiers at work, here. Ms Scott is obviously not as….qualified as Doctor Crane. Has she perhaps earned some right to refer to you in that manner?'

Rutherford noted that Edward Nigma seemed affronted at the very thing he had just suggested. Ms Scott, on the other hand, was watching him closely for an answer. Interesting. Was it the suggestion that Ms Scott was somehow less entitled than Crane? That she, in fact, may have earned her right? Or was it the suggestion that Edward Nigma had more than one level by which he interacted with people that wasn't to do with intelligence?

'Mr Nigma, please answer the question.' Rutherford pushed. 'Ms Scott is very loyal to you, I understand. But so are a lot of other people, currently serving sentences in Blackgate penitentiary. Is it because like you, she has also been labelled insane?'

'No, good doctor,' Edward grit angrily. 'I am not playing your game. Why don't we play mine? Answer a riddle and gain a reply.'

They were so close - but just like that, Edward Nigma had flipped the session around and attempted to take control of it. Again. He wasn't the first psychologist that Nigma had used this tactic on, but he was determined to be the last. He pulled off his glasses and put them down on the desk before he sighed and leaned forward.

'How about I tell you what _I_ think?' Rutherford smiled.

'Do what you want.' Ms Scott replied. 'It's not like we're listening.'

Rutherford was annoyed by that. These two clearly thought that these sessions were useless and merely a change of scenery. 'I believe that you - Mr Nigma - have a certain fondness for Ms Scott. You both have experienced intense and dangerous situations. You are quite able and willing to know the moves of the other without consultation, which allows you to work in perfect tandem and many people speak of your close relationship. I have to wonder if you _allow_ Ms Scott to refer to you by your first name because you trust her - certainly more than you trust Doctor Crane. More than you trust anyone else, besides yourself. That is a deep and powerful relationship built upon necessity. You have shown plenty of willingness to allow the people that work for you to rot, when apprehended. Everyone except for Deborah. You risk your freedom often to take her with you. Do not give me excuses, Mr Nigma. You do not _need_ her. You profess that you do not need anyone and yet you choose, consciously, to bring her with you. You rely upon her in a way you do not rely on the others in your employ and for someone of your emotional scope - that _terrifies_ you. So you pretend it does not exist. That this relationship you have built _does not exist_ because that would make you human. Vulnerable. But some feeling does, inevitably, bleed through. You allow her to get closer to you by the use of your first name when, presumably, Ms Scott would not be worthy. Tell me, Mr Nigma - Do you have romantic feelings for Ms Scott?'

For once in his life - Edward Nigma was speechless. His mouth worked soundlessly, attempting to form some kind of coherent argument - but nothing came out other than a high pitched 'That's - That is _absurd!_ That is-' He looked shellshocked. Scott threw him a surprised and somewhat worried look as Rutherford scribbled his victory into his notebook.

'Did you just break him? You broke Riddler!' She accused the psychologist, with a snarl.

'Ms Scott, Mr Nigma is going through some very difficult emotions that we _will_ discuss -' Rutherford soothed but hardly got any further before a sharpened ruler was stabbed into his hand. She must've secreted it somewhere about her person because materials such as that were not permitted in sessions.

'Nobody breaks Riddler!'She hissed as she wrenched it out. Rutherford pressed the panic button and whimpered. Blood pooled across his notes and blotter. 'When I'm done with you it'll make my last psychologist look like Picasso when compared to Pollock!'

She was interrupted by the office door being slammed open. Four heavyset members of Arkham Security burst into the room, accompanied by orderlies. Dead Switch went for the doctor's eye but was dragged back and pinned into her seat. The ruler fell to the floor with a plastic thwang as needles and restraints were waved.

'You're gonna regret this.' She warned him as they secured her.

Rutherford was clutching his bleeding hand and panting heavily. 'No, ms Scott - it is you who will regret this. I am simply trying to help you.'

'I don't need help!' She screamed as the needle was expertly slid into her arm. Seconds later, she felt the drug taking effect. 'But - you're…you will…' She slurred as everything began to get numb.

Rutherford wrapped his handkerchief around his shaking and bleeding hand and watched as security dragged the two people out of their chairs - heading for solitary no doubt.

Doctor Rutherford paused long enough to jot down a note about what had happened in the session and the violent reaction of Scott towards him for the perceived slight of "Breaking Riddler" before he moved to get medical assistance. The theory hadn't yet been proven - but it hadn't been disproven, either. Nigma's reactions were atypical of his usual self and Rutherford would be lying if he said he didn't get a cheap thrill out of winning against Edward Nigma. The man was infamous in Arkham for never complying with his therapists. Ever.

This victory did not come without cost, however. His hand twinged in agony. He didn't expect Ms Scott to react quite like that in defense of Mr Nigma but every reaction was a window into how the patient thought and behaved. It was clear that when Ms Scott judged Mr Nigma to be incapacitated for one reason or another, she would take unilateral measures outside of her normal purview to rectify that situation in his best interests.

It seemed more and more likely to him that he had stumbled into something that very few psychologists ever thought possible. The narcissistic, obsessive-compulsive, and egocentric Edward Nigma and the dissociative, violent, and secretive Deborah Scott were far too close to each other to class as simply co-dependent.

There was something more.

* * *

A/N: _"You're gonna regret this."_ Oh my god, Switch, you are a walking cliche, aren't you? Bad lackey! However, you made up for that with the Picasso to Pollock analogy. I love that analogy. So graphic.

Edward's just going to have to keep on wondering how she finds such strangely stabtastic weaponry.


	5. Illness

**Chapter 5: Illness**

Edward Nigma was not a man you'd expect to have a TV in his lair. If he wanted something that was being broadcast, he could and would have found a source on the internet - and usually recorded his segments in the news.

But his hideout did have a TV. It was mainly used by the thugs in an effort to keep them quiet while the big boys and girls schemed upstairs. It didn't always work.

'Man, can we watch anything other than Celebrity Love Island?' Mannie begged from his side of the couch.

'Shut up.' Zowie snarled back from the opposite end and turned the volume up as though it were a declaration of war. 'I can't hear what's happening.'

'Ugh.' Mannie let it carry on for a few more seconds before he snapped. He leaned over and tried to snatch the remote away. 'Dude, we're missing classic wrestling for this!'

'It's all fake anyway!' Zowie argued as he struggled to keep hold of the remote.

'Like this isn't?!'

'You take that back!'

The two thugs began to fight properly over the remote control and rolled around the couch. They paused when the TV burst into a slew of sparks. A perfectly round bullet-hole was dead centre in the LCD screen. 'Nobody gets to watch _anything_ until someone goes and finds me a doctor. Not a nurse, not a _pharmacist_ \- a doctor.' Dead Switch growled from behind them.

'Why, boss lady?' Zowie grunted from underneath the heavy mass of Mannie.

'Nigma is….sick.' She sighed. 'And insufferable. Convinced he has Swine Flu or something. Go get me a medical professional. _Now_.'

She watched them slink out of the room before she walked back up the stairs to Nigma's inner sanctum. The door cracked ever so slightly and she murmured 'Boss?'

He was wrapped in every blanket in the hideout - she was sure. Even the one from her bed. Diseased tissues were spread across the keyboards and several screens showed the symptoms and treatment for _Ebola_.

There was a wet sniffle from the figure in the chair. 'Did I hear gunshots?' Riddler asked stuffily.

'The thugs need a new TV.' She shrugged. That was really all that needed to be said about that. Edward probably knew what had happened.

'Well, they can steal a new one on their own time.' He spat with all the venom a bunged up nose and a foggy head could have given him. 'Deborah. I need you to check me for a rash.'

'...Boss, have you been in contact with _anyone_ who may have Ebola?' She asked carefully. 'I mean, you catch it by contact. Body fluids and shit like that. You don't get out and about a lot.'

The figure in the chair hacked a series of terrible coughs and then another tissue was thrown into the pile. 'I have contact with you.'

'I don't have Ebola, boss.' She replied. 'Mannie and Zowie are getting a doctor.'

There was another sniffle. 'I need more tissues.' Edward replied from somewhere in the nest he'd built. Switch had to wonder if she'd ever get her blanket back.

'I'll get someone on it, boss. Even if we have to jack a kleenex truck.' She lamely chuckled.

There was a terrible honking noise from the nest and it finally turned slightly to give her a glimpse of Edward Nigma's sweat-covered, drained face. It was not pretty. She had to bite back a curse. 'If it's not Ebola, Dead Switch, what do I have?'

'Flu?' She wondered. It was not the right thing to say. A damp tissue was thrown in her direction and she dodged the chemical warfare.

'As if The Riddler could be brought low by a common thing like flu!' Edward spat.

'Did you get your flu shot this year, boss?' Switch asked gently.

Silence.

'You didn't?!' She demanded. 'Edward, even I got my flu shot.'

'I don't have flu. I'm dying.' Edward snarled and hacked a cough. 'Be a dear, Deborah and get me hot chocolate.'

'I'll add it to the list.'

'And cough drops. Not the lemon ones. I hate the lemon ones.' He commanded.

'Edward, you've already eaten two packets.' She remonstrated and ducked another badly thrown tissue. 'Alright.' She conceded. 'Is there anything else?'

A pale hand extended from the nest holding a hot water bottle in some kind of hideously green woolly sweater. 'It went cold.'

'Okay.' She took it from his hand. 'Epicurus is in the tumble dryer, he's not worse for wear for being puked on.'

'Good.' Riddler sniffled from his chair.

Dead Switch left him in his sweaty hell. She really did feel sorry for Edward right now - being sick sucked and he inevitably reverted to being childlike when he was. With the first cold snap of the year and having never bothered to get an updated flu jab, it was hardly surprising that he had fallen ill. She resigned herself to playing nursemaid because - well Nigma hated - _hated_ \- the thugs to see him looking like this. He was an omnipotent and omnipresent god to them. Or at least, he liked to think so. An omnipotent god did not get sick. Which meant of all his useless peons, it was her that got the _privilege_ of looking after him.

Maybe some whipped cream and marshmallows on his hot chocolate would cheer him up. She'd set up the projector and play some of his favourite videos too. Keep him occupied and away from his hypochondriac need to check Web MD. Next thing you knew, he'd tell her he had _cancer_. She had to wonder what was up with that website and goddamn cancer.

The kettle had just boiled for a second time, ready to fill a mug of powder when she heard activity in the lower part of the warehouse. '-I'm telling you I'm not a medical doctor I'm-' Deborah paused on the stairs and watched as Mannie and Zowie dragged a woman in a woollen coat towards her. 'We got the doc, boss-lady!'

'I'm _not_ a medical doctor!' The woman replied. 'I'm a chiropractor!' She begged. 'I don't practice actual medicine!'

Deborah resisted the urge to facepalm, or shoot anyone. The two idiots or the woman who was giving her a headache with her whining. Was this how Edward felt on a good day? 'You utter, contemptible morons.' She groaned. 'Put that one back where you got it and hit a goddamn _hospital_.'

'Is this not the right one?'

'Do you know what a chiropractor is?' She asked in a strained but sickly-sweet tone. 'It's a _fucking_ back-quack. Riddler doesn't need his posture adjusting, he needs an actual goddamn doctor!'

'... So you're saying this isn't the right one? She said she had doctor-y qualifications!'

Breathe. Just breathe. There's no reason to shoot anyone today. She was Nurse Dead Switch - she wasn't Edward with his hair-trigger temper-

'I said we work closely with doctors! And I resent being called a quack.' The doctor muttered sullenly.

That did it. Switch's glock was out of it's holster and in her hand before either of the two idiots could shush the stupid woman. 'Get. Her. Out. Of. Here.' Switch twitched alarmingly. 'Before I decide whether or not to shoot _her_ or _you two!_ '

The doctor was dragged away.

She slipped her gun back into the holster and leaned against the wall to breathe.

' _Dead Switch, where's my hot chocolate and water bottle?! I'm cold!_ '

His voice was stuffy and whiny, but it still managed to carry down the stairs. Next time, she'd arrange the flu jab for him. It was _by far_ less work convincing him to get it done then looking after his sick ass.

* * *

A/N: _'As if The Riddler could be brought low by a common thing like flu!'_ Uhhh you sure about that, Eddie? Cause to me and Switch it looks like you've got yourself a big honking case of man-flu going. I hope it's not contagious.

You cannot convince me that The Riddler isn't a petulant baby when he's sick. He's a petulant baby when he _loses_. It's also highly hilarious that the only person he will ever tolerate when he's ill is Deborah. I mean - what did she do to deserve this kind of hell? Y'know, besides murder, mutilation, threats of violence, grand larceny, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Also: Epicurus is Edward's teddy-bear. Little bit of my own fan-lore for you, there. He has a teddy-bear. It's name is Epicurus and it's survived every single one of Edward's hideouts being A) blown up or B) dismantled and has it's own tray in the Arkham lockup. Don't mess with a man's teddy-bear. You have been warned.


	6. Arkham's secret boss level

**Chapter 6: Arkham's secret boss level**

The island was a mess. Batman knew that. It was mostly Joker's doing but all the rogues seemed to have seized upon the opportunity Joker had given them. Eventually, Batman would get to Quinn and Joker and put an end to this madness - but he needed to deal with maintenance first. There were quite a few civilians and grounds-workers who had told him that it was under lockdown and that they hadn't seen their friends in that area at all, despite the fact that there should have been _someone_ in the area. It was suspiciously quiet.

Suspicious enough for him to investigate, anyway. The doors that led to the large, squat building were electrified, of course. But they were also daubed with green question marks. As if on cue, Edward Nigma hijacked his audio-feed.

'Ah, dark knight. That is off-limits.' Edward taunted him, smugly.

'What do you want with Maintenance, Riddler?' He demanded.

Edward chuckled in his ear. 'That would be telling. If you're looking for me, I'm afraid I'm not in there. Find my trophies and find me, Batman. Or have I already won this battle of wills?' The communication shut down.

Nigma wouldn't lie - despite it all he did have a twisted sense of fair play. So, who was in Maintenance? It would have to be someone fairly close to him and something important for him to try and dissuade Batman from entering the building. He used his detective skills to analyze his surroundings. Power to the electrified doors was coming from in the building, no way to shut it down from the outside - but above him was a skylight he could use to gain access.

'Alfred, Dead Switch has taken over maintenance and has hostages.' He growled.

'Hostages? Whatever for?' Alfred's surprise crackled over the microphone.

'I don't know. But I'm heading in. I need to rescue them.'

'Of course.' Alfred replied. 'But do be careful. Ms Scott isn't known for rational thought when provoked and it would be undue for you to risk other people's lives.'

'I know, Alfred.' He replied and cut communication. The grapple latched onto the roof easily and propelled him through without problem. Batman chose to lurk in the shadow of a large steel beam and watched what was happening.

Thugs were patrolling the corridor that opened up to the large shed-like warehouse. His suit picked up their conversation easily as they sauntered by his hidden frame. '-Gotta feel sorry for them, really. If they stop moving - Boom!'

'Yeah, I heard she's already gone through six people. She laughs every time.'

'What happens when she runs out of people to experiment on?'

'We go out and get more, dummy.'

'What if there are no more? What if she starts testing those nasty things on _us_ next?'

'Man, stop talking like that or you _will_ end up as one of them. Stick to patrolling to keep the bat out.'

Batman watched them walk out of view and then turned his attention towards the room further away.

The maintenance warehouse was a large squat building that had been separated into two distinct areas - the first was storage for the many, many things needed to maintain the island. The other was the offices and kitchenette.

In storage, there seemed to be a hive of activity. Thugs walking along the shelves collecting chemicals, piping, and wire. Dead Switch was obviously building something. He watched a thug idly pick up a bottle of ammonia and toss it into a huge trolley being pushed by someone else. All components for a bomb. most probably, it was.

He stiffened as his helmet picked up a transmission coming into the building. The on board computer instantly triangulated where it was being received, somewhere a little deeper in the building. Most likely the offices. 'Dead Switch? _DEAD SWITCH!_ ' The Riddler sounded irritated to say the least.

'Whaaaat boss?' She sounded quite pleased with herself.

'How is my little project coming along?'

'It'd be going better with proper materials.' She warned him. 'But the theory is sound.'

'It works?'

'Absolutely!' She reported happily.

He followed the phonecall as he flitted from rafter to rafter, closing in on her location. His cowl picked up her skeletal structure in an office close to the back of the warehouse. It looked to be an old security checkpoint before the building had been remodelled. Several systems still evidently ran through there. He could see the charge coming through the piping. More than likely, Nigma and Scott had hacked into the mainframe to reactivate the security protocols around the warehouse and reroute authorization to the office she was currently in.

More pressingly, the offices directly in his way were filled with the missing workers moving erratically. Several of the hostages were wearing some kind of bulky contraption around their necks. The cowl classified them as panicked and distressed. Some of the impromptu experiment rooms contained live specimens, others contained headless bodies. Dead Switch's "successes" no doubt.

'Batman was snooping around.' Nigma warned her. 'Tell those useless landwhales helping you to be on their guard.'

'We've got all the defences going.' She replied. 'You honestly think he'll get in?'

'It's _Batman_.' Nigma spat. 'Of course there's _every_ chance. The man is known for cheating!'

He dropped down in front of a terrified groundsworker and lifted a finger to his lip before he pointed at the metal around the man's neck as they began to match pace. 'What do they do?'

'She's made bombs.' The groundskeeper replied in terror. 'They're in the collars! They explode if we stop moving!'

He had assumed as much. This was a new trick up Nigma's sleeve that he was trying to perfect. He hadn't wanted Batman near the building while his lackey tested the bombs he had designed. 'What do they do?' He growled. 'How did the others die?'

'I don't know!' The man sobbed. 'She was testing the remote detonation on the last one. Someone tried to tamper with theirs and - and -' He hiccuped. ' If you stop moving for more than five seconds … It was a mess. Sometimes, she sends in others to beat us. Some people - they just - they -'

Batman nodded grimly. He understood. Yes, they were definitely testing these new designs. Testing their range and durability - and the ability of the wearer to tamper with them.

He scanned the device closely and analysed the results. They were not promising. The collars had been magnetically locked. The only way to release the hostages was - presumably - in the former security office now being occupied by Dead Switch.

'You need to help us!' The groundsworker pleaded.

'I intend to. Sit tight.' He returned and pulled a grapple from under the cape. He was in another rafter before he'd even been seen.

'- We need them smaller. I _want_ them smaller.' Nigma crackled in his ear.

'Without something more compact like C4-' The conversation was still raging as he settled into a beam and decided how best to get to Dead Switch before she detonated the collars. There was no question that she _would_ detonate them - if only to spite him - which meant the approach would have to be swift, silent and unseen.

Difficult in an open room of thugs and hostages.

His scanner picked something up, though. There was a dropped ceiling in the former security booth and it was one of the few rooms that were enclosed in the warehouse. If he could quietly get into it, he could drop down on her without her seeing it coming.

'- I expect _good_ results by the time Batman concedes to me.' They were wrapping up the phonecall. He needed to do this now.

A quick spray on an exposed wall with the explosive gel and he was in. No time to pause, she would have heard the detonation. The roof above the office collapsed with his weight as he slammed down and threw Dead Switch into a wall. He wrapped her arm up into the small of her back in an arm lock as she thrashed and screamed.

'How do you disarm the collars?' He snarled as he twisted her arm.

'Go to hell batfr-!' She cut herself off with a scream as he expertly snapped her arm in one move.

'The collars, Dead Switch! Don't lie to me or I'll break the other one.'

Her free arm waved frantically at the bank of keyboards. On it was a crudely wired red button. He pulled her from the wall and slammed her on it.

An alarm rang out across the warehouse as he finished her off with an expertly thrown knock-out punch. Dead Switch slid to the ground as the phone blurted out ' _WHAT_ is going on up there, Dead Switch?!'

'She's not available.' Batman growled.

There was silence on the phone. 'What have you done, dark knight?'

'I ended your little experiment, Nigma.' He replied and ripped the phone from the wall. It was easy enough to use Nigma's own bypasses to shut down the remaining security defenses, easier still to mop up what remained of the thugs who had realised that Dead Switch was now no longer in charge.

He herded the missing groundskeepers out into the cold night air. 'Get to the gates. Commissioner Gordon is there. You'll be safe.'

'Thank you, Batman.' They smiled in relief before they looked down to the captive in his hands. 'What about her?'

Batman glanced at Dead Switch, still unconscious - for now - with one arm at an odd angle in the handcuffs. 'I'll deliver her somewhere safe.' He promised.

'She killed our friends!'

'And she will be punished for that. But I have to stop this madness. I need to stop Joker.' Batman reminded them.

They nodded solemnly. 'Good luck with that.'

* * *

A/N: We've all thought about it, haven't we? What an OC would be like in Asylum, City, or Knight? Well ... Just about as well as anyone else in Asylum, City, or Knight - Dead Switch pretty much has zero chance of getting out without facing the wrath of Batman. Or Nigma when she wakes up some time later in Medical. She had to tell him! She needs at least _one_ functional arm, Edward!

There's news on the Batman game front. There have been leaks! Batman: Arkham Insurgency. Oooh fancy title. Set between Arkham Origins and Arkham Asylum. So, y'know - a prequel-sequel. Edward's back! Moth is going to be there! Robin isn't prison-skinhead Tim Drake!

It's a good week.


	7. The New Hire

**Chapter 6: The New Hire**

Of all the difficult things Dead Switch had been forced to just swallow and deal with - and there were many. Surprisingly not all of them were due to Edward Nigma's general personality, either - this had to be the worst one.

 _He'd gone and hired a personal assistant._ Without her! Well, it wasn't that it was without her - and god knows Dead Switch could have used some actual _her_ time - it was the fact that he didn't even consider how she'd feel. He'd hired Miss Springheart before Debs had even found out he'd been looking and since her arrival, things had been …. Interesting. He said he'd hired her to keep control of his social media, public appearances, and image - which she could honestly believe - but did he have to hire that specific one?

The difference between the two women now working for The Riddler was astounding. Deborah had not seen consistent sunlight in years, her skin was luminously white. Miss Springheart had a healthy glow of a tan. Deborah's hair was a dry and brittle ash blonde. Miss Springheart's was a well toned honey-blonde. The new hire had perfect make-up, no dark circles under her eyes, no visible scars on her face, neck or arms at all and Deborah was sure she was wearing this season's latest fashion - unlike her own clothes. Shirt that hadn't been changed for a week, stained and filthy skinny jeans, and a coat that had been slept in repeatedly. Deborah lived mostly on coffee and the occasional bad habit of smoking - Miss Springheart looked as though she got three square meals and her five a day.

In other words, Miss Springheart made Deborah Scott feel like a slob of a wreck of a human being - and she was exactly Edward's type.

It wasn't _just_ the way she looked, either. Since she'd arrived in the hideout she'd taken over many of the small things that Dead Switch used to do to keep a happy Riddler. Bringing him coffee - oh dearie, you _need_ to try the Starbucks triple-shot espresso. It's so _you_!, taking his clothes to be washed - Oh _Angela_ knew this _great_ boutique where only the very best and most accomplished people took their smalls, she would introduce him some time. Even _food_ \- _Angela_ knew the owner of Gotham's newest high class diner. Bruce Wayne took a date there, last week. She could pull some favours and get them in there for an appearance. _Angela, Angela, Angela!_ It was like she was slowly taking over Deborah Scott's life.

It wasn't that she was jealous that this new Miss Springheart was always somewhere nearby. It really wasn't. It wasn't even the fact that she clearly did not do hard graft - in those heels and that jewellery? You'll roll an ankle being chased by Batman or lose a finger to one of the many machines. That was why Dead Switch preferred boots and wore no jewellery whatsoever - it wasn't even the fact that since she had joined team Riddler, Miss Springheart seemed to be snooping through everything. Even things she had no right to be snooping in. And that was irritating to her. Because Edward had made it clear that Miss Springheart was there to maintain his online and public presence. Switch was still firmly in charge of making his every insane criminally-minded whim a reality.

She wasn't sure why she _hated_ her. There were plenty of _petty_ reasons listed already to validate not liking her - but she couldn't even shoot the woman over them because Edward always asked insufferable questions like " _Why?"._

Then the coffee-maker incident happened. What was wrong with the coffee-maker? Dead Switch _liked_ the coffee-maker. She was practically the only person who knew how to operate it - because she read the damn instructions. Nigma refused to on principle. The thugs - because there weren't enough pictures. It was missing from it's usual spot on the small kitchenette bench.

She stared irritably. Had someone shot it by accident, again? She'd flay them alive! She'd been awake 20 minutes without coffee and wasn't sure how long her sanity could hold without that sweet nectar. She couldn't even begin to guess what could go wrong in a day without coffee.

'Where's my coffee machine?!' She yelled into the warehouse fruitlessly. ' _My fucking coffee machine!'_

One of the thugs sheepishly appeared in the doorway to investigate the tantrum and found himself caught in her furious glare. 'Um, the uh, boss-lady told us to throw it out. Said it was a health hazard?'

Her face froze. 'Boss …. Lady?' She twitched. ' _I am the boss-lady!_ '

'The - the other boss-lady Dead Switch. Miss Springheart!'

'She … what?' Switch asked in a kind of dreamy demand.

'She said it was a health hazard so we uh… we took it to the dump?' He shifted guiltily. 'We thought you knew, boss-lady.'

Springheart got rid of the coffee machine? Springheart duped _the thugs_ into getting rid of the coffee machine? 'Dave,' She asked in a kind of glassy and brittle smile. 'Have you ever been threatened with evisceration via coffee mug?'

'No, Dead Switch.' He replied like a naughty school child.

' _Then go and get me a fucking coffee machine, now!_ ' She yelled at him and threw the coffee mug for good measure. It bounced hard off his head and shattered on the tile floor. The thug turned and fled from her temper. She stood there, staring at the space where her _beloved_ coffee-machine used to reside and brooded angrily on this.

It wasn't just the coffee machine. It was that Springheart was ordering the thugs around. That they were listening to her. The thugs should have only been listening to Dead Switch. She hired them, after all. She told them what to do - yes, she'd admit that _Edward_ paid them - but they listened to her!

She stepped over the remains of the mug and walked away to the inner sanctum of Riddler's operation - the computer room.

Springheart was nowhere to be seen as Switch typed in the code and opened the door. Perhaps that was a good thing given her psychotic temperament and the missing gallons of coffee she needed to consume before hosting a reasonably sane conversation. 'Edward?' He turned and stared at her in surprise before a smirk crept up his face. 'What's so funny?' She demanded.

'What has teeth but cannot eat?' He answered.

Her hand went into her hair. It tangled instantly around her fingers. 'Fuck.' She murmured. She'd forgotten to get rid of her bed-head. The lack of coffee had driven it completely from her mind. That's what happened when she was left without caffeine like a _savage_.

'Is there a particular reason that you're here, Dead Switch? Besides being an amusement?' He asked her as she attempted to pull her fingers out of the knots in her hair.

'Yes!' She snapped as a good chunk of her brittle hair was pulled away with her hand. 'Your new PA - Miss Springheart? - She ordered the thugs to get rid of my coffee-machine!'

Edward raised his eyebrows. 'Is that why you look so dishevelled? Reliance upon stimulants is-'

'My coffee-maker, Edward!' Switch bemoaned. 'She has no right to order the thugs around! She had no right to get rid of the coffee! _The coffee!_ '

Edward sighed. 'I will ask her to get you a Starbucks while she is on a coffee run but she works for me, just like you do. She will inevitably have to issue orders on my behalf.'

'She got rid of the coffee-maker!' Switch whined pathetically, as though he didn't understand the _ordeal_ she was going through. 'I had to threaten a thug to go and get me a new one!'

'Angela is just getting used to her role, Deborah. It was a damn coffee-machine.' Edward replied. 'She is not doing this purposefully to _you_. She is a breath of fresh air in this dump. Besides, you've already rectified the _misunderstanding_ , why are you bothering me about it?'

Clearly - Edward would not hear a bad word about Miss Springheart. Switch felt herself obligated to tell him that she _didn't like this_ but the man was hardly likely to listen. Riddler and Dead Switch had had plenty of rows about operations and plenty of blow-ups and yes, he'd threatened to kill her on more than one occasion - But this one felt different. This time something had changed.

'Is that all?' He demanded. 'Go and do something, then. I am not paying you to throw tantrums about minor problems.'

She was beginning to hate Angela Springheart. Just a little bit.

Maybe she'd drown her in coffee at some point and claim it was some sort of convoluted suicide.

* * *

A/N: A three parter! Part 1 is here. Angela Springheart does not know who she's messing with. A lot of psychotic toes are about to be stepped on _and it's all Edward's fault_. How does he think Switch'll react when he hires someone to "help" her run _his_ business? Especially a better looking version of her? This is only going to end badly. Very badly. And Switch is very attached to her coffee. One could almost say _extremely_ attached.


	8. The New Hire - pt 2 -

**The New Hire _Pt 2_**

There was one part of Riddler's operation that Switch knew was entirely in her purview. That was what had kept her mouth shut this long. Angela Springheart was no lackey. She was not involved in any of Edward's plans to destroy Batman. He still relied on Dead Switch for that - for now.

She had her own desk full of Nigma's plans and timescales, budgets and half-disassembled bomb collars - if only because Edward hated the fact that the thugs would be trampling through his precious computer room without somewhere she could reasonably call her own workspace. It was a mess, unsurprisingly. Another reason that Edward insisted she had somewhere away from him to work - but it was hers.

It had been hers. She'd woken up one morning - still without a coffee-machine to her everloving fury - and stormed downstairs to work on making someone else's life as much a misery as her own was at this point - to an empty desk.

Well, not quite empty. De-cluttered, certainly. With a vase of fresh flowers in one corner. 'What the f-' She began until she saw the placard next to the flowers. _Angela Springheart - personal assistant._

What? No. Just no. That was _her_ desk. Why did she think - who the hell did she think - Where was all her _stuff?!_

She wasn't caffeinated enough to deal with this.

As if on cue, Miss Springheart appeared. She could smell her before she saw her. It was like she _bathed_ in perfume. 'Good morning!' Springheart was too chipper for it to be classed as a _good_ morning.

Switch pointed to the desk and demanded 'The fuck is this?!'

Angela blinked and then glanced at the offending object. 'Oh! I needed a workspace. Edward suggested I use the desk. It was hiding under a pile of scrap.' She trilled a laugh.

'That's my desk and it wasn't scrap.' Dead Switch growled. Edward? Only _she_ called him Edward. Everyone else called him Nigma, boss, or Riddler.

'I didn't know it was yours!' She simpered. 'Perhaps we could share?'

Share? No. Because Switch could not stand to be around Springheart for anything longer than five minutes without wanting to shank her right now for getting rid of the coffee machine. And the perfume gave her a killer headache. She would not be sharing anything with Springheart. She could go and find her own desk and Dead Switch could spread the contents of her own back where they belonged. 'Where's my stuff?' She demanded.

Springheart blinked and then walked around the desk to pull out a trash can. A _trash can_. It was full of her papers and the Riddler trophy she'd been using as a paperweight.

'You put my stuff in the bin?!' She demanded in outrage.

'I thought it was trash. I'm sorry? Isn't it?' Springheart replied.

She snatched it back angrily and stormed off with the bin under one armpit.

'Boss!'

'What is it now you insufferable cretin?' He frowned at the trash can in her hands. 'Dare I ask?'

'My desk!' She replied. 'It's in a bin! You told Springheart to use my desk and now It's in _a bin_.'

Edward must have realised what had happened. 'Your desk is a spectacular mess, Dead Switch.' He replied. 'It was due a good clean. Didn't it have _mice_ living in the paperwork, one year?'

She spluttered. 'That's not - the _bin_ Edward!'

He sighed. 'What do you want? I don't believe you've came here just to complain at me. Even you're not that stupid.'

'I want a new desk.' She replied.

'No. The warehouse doesn't have enough room.' He replied. 'We need the space to begin working on a new trap.'

'What about up here?'

'No.' He replied coldly. 'This is my workspace - not yours.'

'Then where am I supposed to work?!' She whined.

'Share the desk with Miss Springheart - or find somewhere else. This is below my level of intellect to involve myself in.' He replied and turned back to his computer.

'But-'

'OUT.' He snapped back. 'I am in need of quiet, not petty squabbles!'

First her coffee, now her desk. Why did it feel like she'd been relegated? Because Springheart had won their little spat over the desk? And the coffee? Because she was stuck out of the way while all the thugs presumably went to Springheart? Miss Springheart wanted to hope that at some point in the future, she was never left alone with Dead Switch. Deborah would not be held accountable for what she did.

This wouldn't stand. This meant war - and if there was one thing an inmate of Arkham could do - it was seemingly innocuous acts of petty cruelty.

On her way back through the warehouse with the bin of possessions in her hands, she scooped up the shiny, shiny plaque with Springheart's name on it and threw it into the bin with her papers. She had plans for that little plaque.

* * *

'Have you seen my nameplate, Miss Scott?'

Dead Switch looked up from her welding to find Springheart staring at the contraption in her hands like it was something hideous. Yes, it may not look pretty now, but the inner workings of a Riddler room hardly looked pretty. Just as long as they were sturdy and afforded Batman no way to tamper with them. 'That stupid dead weight? I think so,' Dead Switch turned off the welding torch and checked the strength of the new weld.

'It's not on my desk.' Springheart replied and shied away from the filthy, gloved hand that Dead Switch extended with a "help me up" gesture. When she clearly wasn't about to take it, Dead Switch stumbled up and onto her feet and collided with Springheart. She made sure to completely pat her down, making the grime covering the other woman somehow worse. Good luck getting that out of a dress.

She suddenly brightened and slapped herself on the forehead, which left an impressive streak of grease. 'Oh yeah! I know what happened. I told the thugs to scrounge up some more metal for my weld and - well, the thugs aren't very bright. I _thought_ I had seen your stupid paperweight, though!' She turned over the metal with a horrific grinding noise. On the underside of the latest contraption there was a sliver of warped, welded gold-plate that bore Miss Springheart's barely legible name. 'I had _no idea_ how that might have found it's way into the scraps bin. I thought you'd gotten another _overpriced_ piece of crap for my - sorry - _your_ desk. You can have it back!' She smiled up at Springheart. Dead Switch was going to enjoy the look of fury and horror on her face for a long time. And the best part? Edward would have _nothing_ to bite her head off about. She'd been friendly, apologised for the thugs mistakes and offered to rectify it. She was actively getting along with Springheart without actually getting along. 'I mean, it won't look the same as it did before - but it can look almost the same!'

Angela Springheart's nose crinkled. 'No.' She said at last. 'No, it's- it's fine where it is.'

'Those thugs. They're like toddlers.' Dead Switch simpered. 'You tell them to do something and you have to babysit them. Well, I have to. You sure you don't want it back? I can cut it right out and sand off the rough edges-'

'No.' Springheart sneered. 'I will get a replacement.'

' _Jolly good._ ' Dead Switch replied. 'Then could you kindly fuck off? Some of us have work to do.' She flipped down the welding mask and turned on the gas. A few clicks later and a bright blue flame roared into life.

Score one for Dead Switch.

* * *

A/N: _In this episode of The Real Henchgirls of Gotham City!_

One of Dead Switch's many, _many_ failings, is the fact she's a petty, vindictive little shit (one can only assume she gets it from Edward) and she reacts accordingly when someone messes with her. It's all starting to get a bit out of hand, though. Edward just doesn't understand the symbolism of the bin. The desk is _sacred_. Mice notwithstanding (yes, there were mice living in the paperwork, living off half-eaten hot-pockets it can only be surmised) but it won't be too long before things really explode...

Next time.


	9. The New Hire - pt 3 -

Part 3:

She'd been annotating one of Riddler's plans at the rickety kitchen table, using her phone to record a list of what materials she would need to special order as Miss Springheart suddenly sat in the chair beside her. Switch didn't bother to look up, she knew it was her - who else wore such flowery perfume and in such a quantity that would make even the thugs sneeze?

Since this little low-level war had began, things had become frosty in the Riddler's operation - but to Dead Switch's surprise, there had been no retaliation for the welding incident - yet. She would have expected Springheart's retribution long before now which made her wary of the fact the woman had plopped herself into a chair beside her and began to actively talk. What was she planning, exactly?

'We haven't really had a chance to talk, have we?' Springheart smiled. 'I just wanted you to know that Edward speaks very highly of you.'

'I wouldn't know. I don't see him much, anymore.' She replied venomously and added custom glass tubing "?" x 70 to her list. Not since he'd thrown that tantrum at her about her _squabbles_ with Springheart, anyway. She considered that right now she was in his bad books - which wasn't a safe place to be, so she'd kept her head down and out of his sight unless wanted.

'Does he always mumble math in his sleep?' Miss Springheart asked. Deborah paused and turned to look at her with a glare. 'Oh, you wouldn't know?' She simpered.

 _Bitch_. What exactly was she getting at? What was her play? 'We don't have that kind of relationship.' She bit back.

'You're missing out.' Springheart laughed and Deborah couldn't help but hate the way she trilled that laugh, either. It was the laugh of someone who believed they knew something the other didn't. 'He wanted me to find out which accounts you were using for all….this.' She pointed to the schematics and the list of parts and materials.

Switch frowned. 'He knows what accounts I use.'

'But I don't.' Springheart replied. 'I'm his personal assistant. I need to know these things. To organise and streamline his work, of course.'

'Your job is to oversee him, not me.' Switch snarled. 'I'm running the business books.'

'Sweetie, have you not worked it out?' Miss Springheart asked with all the delight of someone about to push the nuclear button and leaned in close to whisper 'I'm your replacement. He didn't really want to tell you, just yet, but I thought you had a right to know. Ask Edward.' She added as Deborah gave her the most disbelieving and hateful stare she could.

Repla- _replacement?!_ Suddenly it made sense. Taking Springhearts side in the conflict, giving her Switch's desk, the thugs answering to her - It made a horrible amount of sense. No. Fuck, no. This was not happening. She had put in _years_ of work for him - broken bones for him, lied and swindled and threatened for him. She had put up with a _lot_ these past few weeks but she wasn't about to be uprooted and shoved to the back end of nowhere to do Edward's dirty work - or worse, taken out back and shot like a lame dog - for someone like Angela thought that he would callously just get rid of her - she knew it had happened before, but never towards her - was like a red rag to a bull. She couldn't be replaced! ' _Edward!'_ Switch yelled and violently shoved herself out of her chair to confront him.

She rattled the computer room door and banged on it, enraged not only about what Springheart had said - but that he didn't even have the decency to update her on the new door-code. Finally, he buzzed her in and she slammed open the door. He was sitting at his computer, as usual, and she was savagely pleased he seemed surprised. 'We need to talk!' Switch snarled.

'About what? Have you forgotten the door-code _again_?'

'You're...you're _replacing me?!_ ' She spat. 'With _that?!_ '

He sighed and turned the chair around to face her. He looked irritated and confused. 'Replacing you? And to whom are you referring as _that?_ '

'Miss Gucci, that's who!' Deborah gave a strained, brittle laugh. 'I mean, yeah, I can see you sleeping with her - but replacing me?! I work my ass off for you and I find out I'm getting replaced by some prettier blonde?!' She screamed at him.

The cane by his chair shot out and grabbed her around the neck to haul her close. 'Careful, Deborah. You're getting close to hysterical and right now, I won't have it.' He warned her lowly.

'After everything I've done for you-' She hissed. ' _Everything_ \- I at least deserve to know from you when I'm being fired and for what.'

'You're not being fired you lump of over-emotional neediness.' Edward spat in her face. 'At least - not yet. I may have to revise that if you come at me like this again.' He added darkly. 'Now - understand this. I am not _replacing_ you - I am unburdening you of your workload. Your jealousy and petty arguments is, frankly, an annoyance to me. If you can't play nice with Angela then you can't do your job and if you can't do even that - then you are of no further use to me. Can you play nice, Deborah?' He hissed lowly. 'I hope you can, for your sake.'

Jealous?! She wasn't _jealous_ she was furious that things she should have known were slipping away from her. This had never happened. She had never been left out of the loop. It made her insecure at the worst but _jealous?!_ '... I hardly have a choice.' She replied and the cane was pulled away.

'Of course you do, Dead Switch.' he said as she stormed towards the door. 'You're free to do as I say or suffer the consequences.'

She returned to the kitchen but the entire room was devoid of Springheart. Just as well, really. Her phone was left on the table - but not _exactly_ where she'd left it.

Odd.

Dead Switch picked it up and stared at it for a second before she pocketed it and picked up the plans. She had no desire to be anywhere near the building while Edward was in such a foul mood. He could be malevolently inventive when he was angry - and she'd pissed him off quite a bit with her rant about Springheart. Had that been the intent? Get her riled up enough to confront Riddler and get her ass fired/dead?

Perhaps Angela Springheart deserved to be a part of the criminal fraternity after all. Either way, it was clear Switch wasn't needed or wanted here - after she'd successfully burned her bridges. It would be a good idea for Edward to cool off and she had plenty of things that needed _supervision_ because the thugs were clearly a very special breed of idiot.

With the plans under one arm, she walked out into the night.

* * *

Edward Nigma stared at his computer monitor, fingers interlaced as he considered what he'd just been told.

'Dead Switch?' He asked, again.

'I'm so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Edward.' Angela replied sympathetically. 'She wouldn't let me near the accounts and when I did finally get access, I found this. It seems to be some sort of convoluted revenge.'

'I am aware.' Edward sat back and stared at the figures that moved across the monitor in front of him. Money. Misplaced. From his accounts. _A lot of it._ Certainly more than could have been misplaced accidentally by a reasonably stupid individual like Deborah. Why would she do it? Revenge for what, pray tell? He knew that Dead Switch and Angela did not get along particularly well. He'd had to mediate several spats between them over the most _ridiculous_ things. She seemed to be under the rather stupid impression he had been planning on firing her.

But stealing his money?

Is that what this was? Stealing his money as a petty jab at him over some perceived slight?

'I can find some employees to track her down for a formal interview?'

Edward blinked in deep thought, his eyes never left the figures and authorization codes. Hers, undoubtedly. 'No, that will not be necessary,' He mused.

'What do you want to do, Edward?'

 _I want more proof of her involvement than this. I want to see her betrayal for myself._ 'For now, nothing. I want you to monitor the accounts for any more erroneous activity.'

She nodded. 'I'll bring you anything I find.'

He watched her leave by the reflection of the monitor and then stared up at the figures with a critical eye.

 _Dead Switch?!_ He would never have believed it.

Should he believe it?

No. He knew her better than that.

* * *

The Iceberg Lounge was hardly what one would call a classy establishment - no matter how hard Oswald tried, it's reputation always managed to outstrip it. People went to the Iceberg because of it's famous ties with the Gotham criminal underworld. Not that the common public would ever get to see said criminals. Oswald had a very special VIP lounge just for his very best friends - away from the crowds and the sightseers and of course - the undercover cops.

It was here that Riddler met with Dead Switch. She had to admit, she was curious about the message she had gotten from him. _Iceberg Lounge. 7pm. Do not avoid me._ Dead Switch knew that Riddler usually detested the Iceberg lounge. He much preferred his own company when he drank. She had no idea what this was even about, but she had a good inkling. Springheart, as always these last few weeks.

Edward stared into his whiskey for a moment before he sat back and opened up the conversation. 'I detest being wrong.' Well, no shit. She knew he did. Sometimes he would even outright deny he was wrong. She'd heard horror stories about why Trivial Pursuit was now banned in the asylum. That had made him so unpopular it was almost funny. What was he wrong about? Did he… did Springheart say something? 'But I am aware than an apology is in order.'

What.

'An apology?' He never apologised. Riddler was famous for it. 'Is this an exit interview or something?' She demanded. 'Are you really firing me for Springheart? Oh my god are you _dying?!_ '

' _No._ I was, perhaps a little obsessive over my latest series of traps for the dark knight that I failed to notice what was happening around me.' Edward replied, a bitter look on his face as he toyed with his glass. 'I said some very dismissive things of you, Deborah, and didn't listen.'

'Oh my god, you _are_ dying.' She gaped.

'No!' Edward glowered. 'Miss Springheart is no longer in my employ.'

Switch blinked in surprise. 'She's not? Where is she?'

'Currently?' Edward asked and took a sip of his drink. 'Tiny the shark's digestive tract, I'd wager. Oswald was kind enough to let me feed him.'

'Why?' Edward did not do something like that without good reason.

'She was stealing money from me and trying to blame you.' He replied. 'To make you look incompetent and spur me to fire you I can only assume. What she absolutely failed to realise, is despite what she tried to infer - you would not go after money if you were angry, Deborah. You would have always chosen to go for a much more physical and scarring revenge. Taking the money would not have entered into your tiny brain. It hardly takes deduction to work out the common factors.'

'I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered.'

He chuckled. 'Perhaps both.' The smile fell ever so slightly. 'Where have you been?'

She shrugged. 'I wasn't particularly wanted or needed at the warehouse and after our spat I thought it would be better for you to cool off before we discussed business. I'm still your head moron, boss.'

'You've always been a loyal cretin. Especially when I have been… oblivious … to the danger I put myself in. That loyalty was not rewarded these past few weeks.' He mused. 'I shouldn't have been so dismissive of your feelings, Deborah. I should have trusted you. I'm ...' He grimaced. 'Sorry.'

She stared at her own drink for a few seconds in thought. 'Apology accepted. But I have a few conditions.'

'Conditions?' He raised his eyebrow.

'You almost lost a substantial chunk of cash, Edward.' She replied. 'I think I'm owed a few conditions.'

'Touche. I'll consider them.' He waved a hand for her to continue and sat back with his whiskey.

'Hiring and firing go through me.' She held up a finger. 'You can't be trusted.'

'Hiring yes, firing no.' Edward replied. 'You have a tendency to hire extremely stupid contractors. I get annoyed.'

'I want two desks.' Another added itself.

'...An extra-large one.'

'A replacement coffee-machine bright and early tomorrow.' She added a third. 'Non-negotiable.'

'That can be arranged.' he conceded.

'And you're paying for the most expensive champagne that Penguin has.' She added a fourth.

He chuckled. 'You're taking advantage of my temporary charity. As you wish. Is there anything else?'

'Not at the minute.'

He tipped back the whiskey glass and finished off his drink in one gulp. 'Cobblepot! I need your most over-priced fizz.'

'She was insinuating she was sleeping with you to piss me off.' Deborah added as one of Oswald's bartenders went about finding the good alcohol.

Edward turned back and arched an eyebrow. 'Did it?'

She snorted. 'Of course not. I was more pissed at the thought you'd fire me. You weren't sleeping with her, though, right?'

Edward rolled his eyes. 'Does it matter? You weren't offended.'

No, she supposed it didn't. He was a big boy.

The champagne arrived. It was a rather large bottle. Edward was going to pay a pretty penny for it - just as well, really. They drank to the stupidity of Gotham in general and Angela Springheart specifically. May Tiny enjoy his meal.

Things settled down.

'You didn't sleep with her, though, right?'

'You said you weren't offended!'

'Christ, Edward.'

* * *

A/N: So. Of all three chapters, I hate this one the most. I've wrestled with it for so long I'm just done.

Apparently, touching Springheart's oh so important nameplate was like a red rag to a bull. It went nuclear in a double-pronged way. Inciting Dead Switch to take a swipe at Edward and then going to him with some very fabricated evidence of embezzlement to get Dead Switch out of her way, Springheart did not anticipate the paranoia Edward Nigma has in buckets - or that he'd be so unwilling to believe the story. Headcanon is that this isn't the first time Springheart had used this method to great effect and while the corporate world can be _brutal_ \- it's got nothing on the criminal world. Oh well, Tiny got lunch and when the shark's happy - aren't we all?

Headcanon also suggests that he absolutely did sleep with her.

Next chapter is a hilarious collab with a good friend and has mentions of everyone's favourite plant lady!


	10. The Incident

**The Incident**

Edward Nigma was a man who could only be described with one word: Ego. Usually many other unflattering words followed _afterwards_ , but ego was the one that started it all off. He would constantly want and need flattery of any and all kinds just to boost said ego, like it needed to be any bigger than it already was.

Of course there were moments when he didn't need nor want flattery and right now would be one of those moments. When he was scheming to get rid of Batman. Again. It had started out relatively fine, he'd sent Dead Switch out to collect some tech he'd ordered in - thank you Oswald - and she had come back looking dizzy and seemingly not fully _there_. Edward had assumed she'd been drinking while she waited for Penguin's idiots to collect the package and so, thought nothing of it. It wasn't the first time Dead Switch had imbibed a liquid lunch, after all.

The the compliments began.

"Boss… Edward…" she stared blankly at her work desk while he stood hunched over his keyboard. "Did I ever tell you how handsome you were?"

Edward paused in his writing, turned towards her and raised an eyebrow. Had he heard her right? "Pardon?" He frowned.

"Do you know how handsome you are?"

Yep. He'd heard her right. Edward nodded slowly. "I am fully aware, yes thank you…"

"You're also very intelligent... the smartest person I know."

Edward sighed and turned to look at her. She was gazing at him with an otherworldly look to her face. She looked high which made no sense, since as far as he knew, Switch wouldn't even touch her medication at the asylum let alone anything from the street. She was smart enough not to get mixed up in _that_ at least.

Was she _that_ drunk? … Probably.

"I appreciate the compliment Dead Switch," he growled. "But if you would get back to work that would be more useful and beneficial to me." He turned back to his computers, to type as he went.

It had been a whole ten minutes silence with nary the sound of working - just his typing. Not even Dead Switch's usual cussing broke the silence - which usually happened at least once or twice a minute when she was made things for him.

Edward turned around to comment on her unusual quiet - he found her stood behind him admiring him. Well… that was what it looked like she was doing. "Can I help you?" Edward drawled slowly with a raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm I think maybe you can," she.. purred? Was that a purr? Could Dead Switch purr? Edward frowned at the odd situation he seemed to have found himself in. "I mean," she continued. "You're so smart… I'm sure you could come up with.. ahh so many inventive ways…"

She was getting closer… Edward actually felt himself back up into the keyboard and monitor.

He held a hand up to stop her, not that it actually did - but it made him feel better. "Switch… Deborah… you're acting very odd."

"No I'm not," she grinned, placing her hands either side of him, resting them on his desk as she leaned up to him. "Maybe this is who I really am and how I really feel… god you're smart," she ran one of her hands up his chest, reaching his tie. "The things you could do to me…"

"Throwing you off a cliff is coming to mind _right now_ ," Edward growled as he batted her hand away. "What has gotten into you?!"

Switch giggled, actually giggled. Edward didn't know she had the ability to giggle. "Well I'm hoping you will."

He felt his eyes bulge out of his skull. "W-what!?" he spluttered as he backed up even further, pressing himself as far back as he possibly could. "D- Deborah I.. go back to your workbench _this instant_ you worthless cretin!"

"Why? I've got you right where I want you," she purred reaching up again to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. "Oh you are so smart," she grinned and ran her fingers through his hair. "I should imagine you'd be quite… inventive…"

Edward was searching for his cane desperately. He needed to put some space between them immediately. "Let.. get off me!" it sounded far too much like the squeak of a flustered individual than a command from the mighty Riddler.

"Oh come on now boss," she leaned up closer. "Aren't you at all curious?" she whispered. She was so close now, her lips just in front of his.

"D- Deborah, you need to back away right now. Do not make me do something I will regre- _mmpphh!?_ "

She suddenly pressed her lips to his. Edward's eyes were wide and his whole body went rigid as she kissed him - then he noticed it. The reason and _sole_ explanation to this whole fiasco in the first place. The undeniable earthy smell mixed with roses hit him full in the face when she kissed him and then he _understood_.

He pushed her away from him. She stumbled back slightly and tripped to the floor looking a tad hurt at the forceful shove. Edward was gasping for breath - his face flushed, but he was determined to fight through the corruption of his mind and the base nature of his body responding to the contact. "That damn Ivy witch!" Edward snarled as he wiped his mouth, trying to get rid of any of the pollen that might of gotten on him in their little kiss. "Mark my words Dead Switch she will pay for doing this to you, but that doesn't mean you can just give in to it and throw yourself at me!"

Truth be told he felt a tiny bit conflicted. He wanted to punish her for what she'd done but, he himself had also been under Ivy's control and knew how horrible it was. Your mind would be in a dreamlike state - more susceptible to feelings and emotions you wouldn't necessarily have had and it would force you to act upon them. You wouldn't be fully aware of what you were doing or had done until afterwards.

Edward watched as she stumbled to her feet and walked towards him. "Boss, Edward come on. you know you want to."

He narrowed his eyes. "No I do not. I'm surprised _you_ do." He was attractive, he knew that. But he'd never considered that Dead Switch of all people would be attracted to him. Edward always considered she would be interested in some kind of mindless, dumb meathead. Or was Asexual.

"Who wouldn't?"

He closed his eyes and began to mentally count to ten in his head. "Just… stay over there."

"But if I stay over here…" she walked up to him and reached out. "Then I won't be able to reach you…"

Edward grabbed her wrists. "Get off me you little- STOP UNBUTTONING THAT- Dead Switch I'm warning you!" he wrestled with her a little before he managed to get away and hid in the kitchen. Him! Hiding in the kitchen. Not even Batman managed to get him to do that. Cool down… he needed to cool down, he could feel Ivy's pollen all over his skin. It made him itch. He needed to cool himself down before he did anything stupid thanks to his brilliant brain being corrupted. Edward turned to the freezer and opened it, resting his head inside and taking a few deep breaths.

"Damn it Ivy," he growled as he reached for his phone and typed in Ivy's number. He had memorized quite a few of his useless colleagues' burners - just in case. You never knew when you needed them after all.

He waited a few moments before she finally answered. " _Hello_ Pamela. Yes, I know you hate me, why do I sound weird? Funny you should ask that. It's because I have my head in the _freezer!_ Why do I have my head in the freezer? Again, _funny question._ What can I say… you did something to Dead Switch, didn't you?! Your pollen, its corrupted whatever bare intellect she had in there, it's making her act like.. like.." he tried to think of something to accurately describe the last few minutes and then settled on exactly the right metaphor. "She's acting like Sphinx! I can't take this. Not with two of them! Why would you - she needed to learn a lesson?! _What lesson?!_ … Well considered it learnt and snap her out of it!" He hit his head against the door of the freezer. "What do you mean you can't? It's your pollen! Well get over here and fix this you- hello? _Hello?!_ " He pulled the phone away from his ear. "She hung up on me." Edward murmured in disbelief.

"There you are!"

"AH!" Edward yelped and span around to see Switch smiling at him.

"Hey Edward," she waved at him. "What are you doing in the freezer?"

She was getting closer. "Deborah! Stay away! Do not make me-!" he looked back at the freezer and noticed - besides the fact it needed de-icing - a piece of prime frozen steak.

"What are you doing, Edward?" Her head cocked to the side.

"Solving a problem!" he reached back and grabbed the steak - it swung in a wide arc and, having been in the freezer for so long, was as hard as rock. He hit her with some precision.

Dead Switch went out like a light. Edward sighed and slipped down the freezer to the floor. He rested his head against the back of the freezer itself to take a breath. Well that was one problem down, now what to do with her?

* * *

When Switch came to, the very first thing she noticed - besides the epic headache - was that she was tied to her bed. It was almost hard not to notice - her restraints were tight. She blinked and began to panic slightly, as she assessed what the _hell_ was going on. Her eyes locked on Edward as he watched her with folded arms and narrowed eyes. He looked… unhappy. "Boss?"

"Do you feel any sort of attraction towards me?"

She went wide eyed. "W-what?! Why in.. no! _God_ no!"

"A simple no would've worked." Edward muttered. "Well at least the worst of it is over, it seems."

She blinked. "W-worst of it?" Something about the way he said that seemed familiar but the situation was so bizarre at this point she wasn't about to delve into that just yet.

"Ivy," Edward explained. "Apparently, you annoyed her. She hit you with some of her love pollen and decided that the person of your affections would be me."

"What?!" She was going red. "That was just a horrible nightmare!... Right? I wouldn't do any of that stuff. I wouldn't kiss you or or... flirt or… or…" she trailed off at Edward's face. "Oh my god! I did all those things?!"

"You did," he agreed. "We will not speak of this incident ever again, Dead Switch," he untied her from the bed and narrowed his eyes. "Ever."

"No complaints here."

He nodded and turned around before pausing. "Though I do wonder," Switch looked up at him as she rubbed some feeling back into her wrists. "Why exactly it was me that you decided to focus your attraction to? I had expected some musclebound imbecile," he looked at her. "Care to explain to me?"

"I work with you a lot…?" Switch trailed off. "That's the only logical explanation."

He studied her for a few moments. "Ivy will pay, Deborah. No one goes after my employees and gets away with it, especially my… slightly more useful lackey."

"Gee. _Thanks boss_."

"Be a little bit more grateful or I'll show you the video footage of your poor attempt to get me into bed." He warned her with a chilly smile.

"You're the best, boss;" Switch gave him a thumbs up.

"I can hear that sarcasm."

"It's not sarcasm! It really isn't. Please don't show me the footage, I honestly _am_ grateful for what you are going to do to Ivy. Knowing you, it's going to be horrible."

He nodded and turned on his heel before smirking. "Oh and Dead Switch?"

"Yeah boss?"

He reached the door, opening it and turned to face her as he closed it, smirking slightly. "I'm way out of your league."

* * *

A/N: Sexual harassment! In the workplace! Bad lackey! As for payback on Ivy - well, lets just consider that a large sum of money was paid to one Garfield Lynns to not only burn a certain plant-woman's greenhouse to the ground, but salt the earth at the same time. Ivy still hasn't forgiven them. She _really_ hasn't forgiven Firefly but he was compensated extremely well for his services. Enough to buy some new toys, anyway. He's fine. Probably.

I had some help with this chapter. The esteemed (and wonderful) Batty28 and I collaborated on it. Such a wonderful piece and a wonderful friend. I was crying and cringing at the same time when I read this.


	11. County Lockup

**County Lockup**

County Lockup was a fun place to spend your Thursday nights. The drunks across the way were watching her again. At least DUI Denise had left her alone - and stopped puking in the corner. Dead Switch settled back on the bench of the women's lockup and considered how she'd arrived at this point tonight. She hadn't even been speeding that badly. Everyone does seventy in a forty, right? She had a lead foot and had been in a hurry.

She wondered how badly Edward was going to take this. He wasn't going to let go of the fact her driving had once again caused problems. Next time, she'd bring someone else with her and they could drive while she power-napped.

'Hey baby, like what you see?'

She rolled her eyes. Who could _possibly_ resist the sight of a pot-bellied, drunk trucker with the remains of breakfast - she hoped it was breakfast - down his stained shirt? Really? Maybe this would be a lesson to only speed when she knew there were no cops on the road.

'Hey, frigid bitch!'

Yeah, it was definitely a lesson to toe the line …. for a few weeks. Thankfully she was spared any more _oh so hurtful_ comments by the appearance of the on-duty officer who slammed his night-stick against the bars of the men's lockup and yelled 'Shut it, Steve! Leave the women alone. Not like they'd be interested in your tiny dick anyway.'

Dead Switch chuckled ever so slightly at the look on Steve's face. Lock-up fell quiet and - oh no, there went Denise again. They'd better hurry and get her breathalyzed otherwise there would be nothing left to test. It would all be overpowered by the vomit.

She watched the officer walk back to the desk situated between the two holding tanks and turn up the baseball game to drown out the sound of Denise's violent retching. It was a wonder that Denise had managed to start the car at all. Deborah casually watched the game and carefully ignored the sound and _smell_ of Denise.

She blinked and - what was that? She'd almost missed it but it looked like the game had cut out for a second and in the static -

No. it had clearly been a long night and once they worked out who they were dealing with - it was only a matter of time before the lazy cops here actually bothered to take her prints and her other life would appear - she'd be on transport to the GCPD and then Arkham before you could - there it was again!

It was repeating.

The officer clearly hadn't noticed it, as he slapped the little portable across the side and moved to fiddle with the ariel. But it was there.

Just as she noticed it another officer entered lockup and approached the desk. She instantly tagged him as noteworthy, since he looked nervy and was hiding it poorly. 'Hey, I need to take one for booking.'

'Yeah, sure. Which side?'

'Female.'

Please be Denise. The smell of ripe Echo Falls was practically overpowering and she really felt bad for whichever unlucky sod had to clean up this side of lockup.

'Miss Scott?'

She glanced up and noticed exactly how nervous the young rookie looked - he looked like he was in hell and meeting Satan. The kind of nervous Switch saw often. He'd had an audience with Edward _._ Of this, she had _no_ doubt.

She stood up slowly and approached the bars as the rookie opened up the door. 'Howdy.' She greeted with a smirk and held out her hands to be cuffed. This wasn't her first rodeo after all. The poor boy wouldn't even look at her as he tightened them.

'This - this way, please.' He stammered. His fellow officer was still engrossed with the baseball game ongoing on the portable. He hadn't heard the terrified stammer.

'You said please!' She teased him. 'Does a little birdie have your ear?'

The rookie locked up. 'I - just please follow me.'

'Oooh he does.' She laughed and saluted. They made it all the way out of lockup and down the corridor before he spoke - and the nerves really took hold 'I - I've been told to get you out of the precinct.' The rookie twitched. 'He has my wife! He said if I didn't, he'd kill her and put it on the internet!'

Oh, Edward had been a naughty boy. Kidnapping officer's wives? Tut tut. 'Riddler will absolutely do it.' She said with a hint of boredom. 'So I suggest you follow through and get me out.'

'I just - I need a few seconds.' He was practically hyperventilating, jumping at everything as he led her further into the maze. She would say she wasn't enjoying this, but that would be a lie. Edward had a wonderful effect on cops - and the general public at large - which could be best construed as … panic freezing. They panicked when confronted with a man who could and would use his intelligence to ensure their demise because deep down they feared that whatever they did - it would play right into his game. That he'd thought of it - thought of _everything_ and they were right to be scared.

'First time sullying the badge?' Dead Switch teased. 'There's no _shame_ in it, you know. In fact, if you go and see the GCPD right now and explain everything to Gordon you may be fine. Although - if Nigma found out you'd been telling them what he does in his own time, well …' She chuckled. 'Your poor wife.'

He was sweating now as he walked. A pair of officers barely cleared the corridor as he dragged her down and past the CCTV room. She caught a glimpse of the monitors all showing the same thing - static, tinted green. The officers looked confused by what was happening. Evidently, they weren't familiar with how The Riddler operated. Not surprising since they were outside of Gotham.

Across the precinct people puzzled at the blanket static. At the halfway point, the lights crackled and died at once, leaving many in surprised darkness. The Rookie - to his credit - did not stop moving. He kept pulling her along towards a glowing red EXIT sign at the end of the corridor. No power meant no alarms as the door was pushed open and they fell out into the night air. The Rookie looked pale and green by the light of the moon as he unlocked her handcuffs and said 'He said there'd be a car waiting. Please, tell him to let my wife go.'

She arched an eyebrow and ran a critical eye across the alley. There, out in the street opposite the lockup was a car loitering under a streetlight. The paintwork was green.

There was her ride. 'It's been a pleasure, officer. Say goodbye to Denise for me.' She smirked. 'I'll pass along your regards to Nigma.'

The rookie watched as she looked both ways, glanced at him and still jaywalked across the street to the car. Dead Switch slid into the leather seat easily and sighed heavily. 'How mad is he?'

'Extremely.' Edward drawled unhappily from the driver's seat. She whipped around to stare at him. He'd actually come and picked her up himself?! It was unheard of. He wrinkled his nose and turned on the air conditioning. 'You smell like vomit.'

'DUI Denise.' She mumbled. 'Wouldn't leave me alone until I'd heard about her seventeenth DUI charge. She's a puker.'

Edward's nose wrinkled further. 'Seventeen? Good lord.'

She got comfortable in the seat and clipped in - safety first! Not that Edward could ever actually cause an accident unless he wanted to, but she didn't trust other drivers. 'So, how much trouble am I in?'

'You're no longer to drive anywhere.' Edward replied as he put the car into gear and pulled out. 'I'm starting to think I need to give _you_ a minder.'

She made an affronted noise in the back of her throat. 'I don't need a minder - I need to pay off more cops. Since Gordon took over it's getting harder and harder - even out here in the middle of _nowhere_.'

'I know.' Edward fumed. 'Which is just as much of a reason to actually stay in the speed limit.'

'Nice work with the precinct. I appreciate it.' She completely ignored his jab about speed-limits and obeying them.

'I was going to let you spend your time in Arkham as a lesson.' He warned her as they merged into traffic. 'But I have plans that won't be derailed by your idiotic attitude to speed traps!'

She sat and let him admonish her for her stupidity as they drove. Best to get it over and done with now. It wasn't like she could go anywhere - short of throwing herself out of the car; it was tempting - so she sat back and listened to his scathing rant about playing angel and thanking her lucky stars that the county police could not always identify a Gotham villain.

'Thanks. Thanks for coming to get me.' She interrupted sincerely.

He said nothing, but when she glanced at him, there was the faintest smile there.

They would be alright.

As long as she wasn't caught speeding again for another few weeks.

* * *

A/N: Hands up who thinks she got caught speeding less than a week later? I do, I do!

There's a reason Deborah Scott doesn't have a driving licence. She's a maniac with a lead foot. No officer's wives were harmed in the total cock-up that this was. She was returned the next day. A certain 17 time offender's car _may_ have mysteriously burned to the ground during the night. Investigators believe some kind of explosive in the fuel tank was involved.


	12. Rebuttal

**Rebuttal**

Doctor Rutherford had been on edge since the reported escape of The Riddler and Dead Switch. Their last session together hadn't exactly worked in the way he'd hoped. He'd asked them to _clarify_ some of the more popular theories about the two of them and in doing so, had reduced Edward Nigma to a gibbering mess and enraged his self-styled lackey enough for her to reach across the desk and stab him through the hand.

As if to remind him of that incident, his healing hand twinged around his briefcase as he hurried on to his car. The stitches had just come out and he was expected to regain full use of it - in time. What concerned Rutherford far more, however, was that the two psychopaths were now _loose_ in the world. He'd requested Arkham Security and GCPD escort whenever he moved between his office and apartment but even they were stretched thin right now - and the two patients escape had been _weeks_ ago. Surely they had better things to do than abduct and murder him, right?

Then why didn't Doctor Joseph Rutherford P.h.D feel safe? Why did he suspect that people had been in his apartment while he'd been out? _Someone_ had painted a giant green question mark on a billboard outside his window and the very second he saw that, he was on the phone to the GCPD - but what could they do? There were similar painted question marks _all over Gotham_ and they weren't about to send a squad car to watch over him as he slept on the off-chance he would be a target because he _pissed off The Riddler._

They really should have.

Joseph dug his good hand into his pocket for his car keys as someone in an Arkham Securities jacket walked up to the car. 'Doctor Rutherford? I been sent to watch you.'

Oh how kind - _now_ they could spare the manpower. After he'd already made his long trip down from his office and across the sparse, misty grounds where anything could have happened - they send a man _now_ to watch him get into the safety of his car. Rutherford looked up at him, a sharp word for Mr Cash on his tongue when he realised he didn't recognise the man in the ill-fitting uniform. 'Do I know you?' He asked.

'New hire.' A terrifyingly familiar voice replied from behind him replied as he felt the taser kiss his lower back.

Doctor Rutherford fell to the ground. Dead Switch bent down and jabbed him with the taser again just because she could as she grabbed the keys. 'Get him nice and secure. We're taking a little ride.'

* * *

'Welcome Doctor Rutherford. I hope my minions have treated you kindly? Certainly more kindly than they treat us in Arkham. Was Dead Switch too overzealous with the taser? I _knew_ it was a bad idea to give her one, but it's all she really wanted for Christmas! Well, that and enough C4 to level half of Gotham.' Nigma was sitting in his favourite computer chair above the pit that Rutherford was in. Beside him, leant against the computer station, Dead Switch was wearing a sadistic smile on her face. 'We're going to play a little game, Doctor.' Edward grinned over his steepled fingers and sat back.

Joseph was strapped down heavily into a metal chair - he'd hesitate to say this, but it looked like an executioner's chair. The straps were strong and he was unable to get his fingers into the buckles. Wires ran rings around the chair - that worried him. What kind of twisted game was Nigma playing, exactly?

'Mr Nigma-' Joseph began but arched up as an electrical current was run through the chair.

'Please, doctor. Don't talk.' Riddler replied as Switch pulled her hand off the shock button. 'This session does not need you to talk just yet. I had toyed with a few ideas, of course, about how to break you. Prove to you I am your intellectual superior. It was hardly a challenge, I am _everyone's_ intellectual superior..'

'For the record,' Dead Switch added from her perch. 'I was quite happy to string you up outside the asylum gates for visitors.'

'We can string him up later. If there's enough left.' Riddler promised darkly. 'I'm sure Scarecrow would approve.'

'Why are you doing this?!' He begged and received another shock for opening his mouth.

'A slow learner.' Edward mused as his hand pulled away from the button. 'That's not going to help you, Doctor Rutherford. But I will answer your question. You see, both Deborah and I agree you overstepped your boundaries. Implying there was _anything_ between us, you exposited on something you know _very_ little about, and so we find ourselves here. Every time you plead, beg, whine or talk, other than to answer my riddles, Dead Switch will increase the voltage. This will continue until you die. I have to wonder how long you will last for a supposed learned man.'

As if to demonstrate this, Dead Switch turned a dial ever so slightly. The monitors behind him that had been a healthy glowing green were now turning steadily more yellow. That wasn't a good sign. Rutherford tested his restraints again after that shock, they were very strong. 'I'm sure we can come to-' He pleaded, despite knowing what was coming.

Nigma sighed heavily. 'Have you not understood a word I just said?' He demanded.

Their hands both brushed each other's on the way to pressing the shock button and pulled back sharply. Dead Switch withdrew her hand completely. Riddler paused for a second but ultimately pressed the button. Despite the pain he was in, Joseph couldn't help but notice the unique event of what had happened. They had touched and then immediately reacted to one-another's presence in a way that he had never seen before - in person or during CCTV.

They seemed loathe to want physical contact.

Eventually the pain stopped and he slumped forward on the chair, breath came harshly. Whatever had happened there seemed to have put The Riddler in a foul mood. His tone turned dark and angry an was focused directly on him. 'You're not going to leave here alive, Rutherford. Normally, I would give someone a simple and easy way to end their pain - by admitting that I - Edward Nigma - bested them, but today? Today that's not the exercise. Your little _theories_ have become a thorn in my side that I can no longer tolerate!' He hissed and then composed himself. 'Now, smile. I have a social media presence to maintain.'

Rutherford opened his mouth to tell him that they _weren't_ his theories - the theories had been floating around for years, ever since someone had realised that this duo were closer than many other employers and lackeys. That whenever The Riddler escaped - Dead Switch would also disappear at the same time. That he called her by her first name, that she was one of the very few to call him by his and not receive warning - that meant something. It _had_ to mean something - but the little needle had jumped again and was now firmly in the yellow. He clamped down hard on his tongue.

'Ah! We do learn.' Riddler mocked. 'Shall we test how much one can learn? Riddle me this, doctor - I have keys but no locks. I have a space but no room. You can enter but you can't go outside. What am I?'

Joseph was average when it came to puzzles. He wouldn't say he was the best at sudoku, but he got it in the end. This was harder while he was under pressure. When the wrong answer could possibly kill him. 'Um… Uh… I - I don't- A...Car?'

He tensed as Dead Switch pounced on the button that electrified his chair at his stuttered answer. The pain was intense and debilitating, it made it hard to think, which was probably not lost on The Riddler. The underside of his arms and the back of his legs were burning with the crackle and heat given off by the chair and that was _excruciating_.

Eventually Riddler indicated for it to end and Rutherford slumped back. 'Really. Do they just hand out PhD's to anyone, now? The answer is a keyboard, good doctor. Do try to survive longer - or this won't be fun for anyone. Well, except Deborah.'

Joseph twitched in anger and pain. He knew Edward Nigma was a narcissist and had no qualms about killing people in the pursuit of demonstrating his genius - but this was so far removed from that - it almost made him unrecognisable. Rutherford had thought it was impossible for him to deviate from his obsession - but he had clearly done so, here. It was like he wasn't even trying to prove his intelligence at this point, he was simply using it and hurting him for a perceived slight.

Never has The Riddler ever displayed such a capacity of killing for killing's sake than right now.

'Lets try again.' Edward Nigma smirked from upon his self-made throne. 'You can carry it everywhere you go and it does not get heavy - what is it, Doctor Rutherford?'

Joseph was in pain, terrified of getting another wrong answer and desperately wishing for The Batman - but Batman was unlikely. He didn't want to die - he had joined the ranks of psychology to help people overcome their mental illness but this - this was too much even for the most trained mind. This was madness.

He couldn't think. Couldn't speak, unless it was the right answer - He didn't know the right answer.

Riddler grew impatient after a time and sighed. 'It was _your name_ good doctor. Really, you have the audacity to make bold claims on my psyche and my relationships with others, but you can't answer the simplest of questions yourself? The only difference between _you_ and _myself_ is that I actually know my subject. You, clearly, know nothing. I am doing the world a favour by ridding it of you.' He turned and motioned for his associate to turn it up. The needle touched red and Dead Switch pounced on the button again.

Joseph's head felt like it was on fire. His limbs were in agony and there was a terrifying smell of burnt flesh as Scott took great glee in holding down the button and prolonging his pain.

The chair was smouldering now. The power arcing through it - and Joseph Rutherford - was far beyond normal voltage. Not even Batman could have saved him now.

Both Riddler and Dead Switch winced simultaneously as Rutherford became one with the chair thanks to the electricity but neither Deborah's smile or Edward's smug smirk moved. 'I expected better.' She finally said.

'I had hoped the same. Pay up.' He held out his hand. A wad of cash changed hands. 'You should know better than to bet against me, by now.' He chuckled.

'I keep thinking that this one I'll win.' She replied companionably and glanced down at the body as the power finally shut down. 'I don't think we're going to get Crispy there up to the Asylum gates in one piece.'

'A valid point.' Edward mused. 'What shall we do with him, now?'

'Lets take the head and stick it on a railing.' Dead Switch offered. 'All the fun and less of the dragging.'

Edward chuckled darkly. 'Fine. You can't say I don't let you have fun - but you're collecting the head.'

* * *

A/N: Did anyone _really_ expect Rutherford to survive after his first session with Riddler and Dead Switch? Edward gets touchy about losing. However, this is not the end of the saga of questions surrounding their working relationship. Not by a long shot.


	13. Fresh Hell

**Fresh Hell**

Edward Nigma stumbled into his lair with a very definite _**squelch**_ and tried to ignore the absolutely uncomfortable feeling of wet socks.

The socks were nothing compared to the trousers and jacket. How did people ever survive in these things?! He could think of a multitude of things like _sandpaper_ that were less abrasive and clingy than the jeans and denim jacket he was currently wearing.

In hindsight - he really shouldn't have worn skinny jeans. He felt like a walking board. Every step restricted by the waterlogged denim.

He was going to kill Dead Switch. The _one_ time she had forgotten laundry day and he'd had to improvise with whatever was in the back of his wardrobe - he wasn't even sure why these had been in there in the first place. What was that joke? _Hey, the 90's called -_

He tried to take the jacket off and got near the elbows before the jacket stuck and refused to move any further, trapped his arms behind him far better than handcuffs ever could have hoped to achieve. Oh what fresh hell was this?! It was stuck - it was _stuck!_

He was going to kill her. If he ever escaped this infernal jacket - he'd burn every bit of denim he found.

Edward Nigma, soaked to the bone and hardly in the best of moods, began to look around for something to help him when he spotted a pair of scissors on the desk.

What were the odds that this evil design of the devil himself would blunt them? They were heavy duty scissors - he'd seen them cut through aluminium like it were paper.

It was a risk he was willing to take - his arms were going numb and becoming irritated by the damp - he hesitated to use the word cloth. This was not egyptian cotton.

He managed to snatch up the scissors on the second try and began to cut himself free of this infernal thing. When he was free - and he would get free, even if he had to chew an arm off, he would get free - he was going to design a trap for Deborah just to show his unhappiness. This wasn't just torture, this was _humiliation!_

The Riddler knew humiliation - oh didn't he just - and this wasn't going to stand. He finally managed to pull an arm free of the shredded - hated - jacket and threw it across the room. There would be a trip to the incinerator later. He would celebrate it's demise.

The next time he ever considered "How bad can it be?" he was going to remember this and think twice. And when he got hold of the bat-eared-bastard that had thrown him into the river in the first place …

The ruined leather belt flew into the corner and he stared down at the clinging shirt and skintight trousers.

Oh this wasn't going to be any easier, was it?

The thought of a pair of scissors that had cut through both denim and aluminium near his crowning glory was not one Edward was willing to entertain - which meant there was no cutting himself free of this.

'Come on - get off - get - off!' He pushed and wriggled and fought - ended up on his ass in the middle of the computer room for his troubles and had still only managed to peel them to mid-thigh when someone appeared in the doorway. Edward knew instantly who it was just by the muffled snort of derision. ' _What_ are you looking at, Dead Switch?! This is your fault!'

'Been for a swim, boss?' She asked casually.

He fumed, but silently. Like it or not he needed her help. 'It was a lovely day.' He drawled sarcastically. 'I needed to cool off. Now get over here _and help me!_ '

With Deborah pulling and him pushing they finally got the hated jeans past his knees where they flew off as though they hadn't been glued to his legs. She hit the floor as Edward stood up - damp, furious and more than a little pleased to be out of them.

Deborah sat up, looked at him and began to laugh. 'What's so funny?' He demanded and looked down.

The dye in the jeans had ran and had given him a mottled blue/purple tan to the knees, hips, boxers and the bottom of his shirt. In fact, everywhere that had been repeatedly rubbing against them had been stained. The shirt and boxers probably cost more than ten pairs of the cheapjack jeans actually had and now they were stained blue.

This was the cherry on the cake of Riddler's day as Dead Switch fell back, laughing hard. 'You look like you're the bottom half of a smurf!' She cackled.

He entirely failed to summon an appropriate response to that and after the fight with the jacket and trousers, beating her to a pulp for laughing at his latest hell was far too much work. Instead he walked over to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out the bottle of whiskey he kept there for very bad days.

'I'll be in the shower. Yes, with the whiskey.' He growled and squelched away to her peals of laughter.

Never again. He was never going to look at denim the same way again. He would think of appropriate revenge on Batman and Dead Switch later. He turned on the shower and crawled in, clothes et al. Well, what was the point? He was already soaked through. The cap of the whiskey came off and he sneezed, hard.

Oh…. no.

* * *

A/N: _psst_ \- Riddler has the lurgy. Pass it on. May or may not be linked to chapter 5 - _Illness_.

I'm blaming ScaryScarecrows for this one. I was dared. I cannot ignore a dare! So, just for Scary - here's possibly the very worst thing I could ever do to dear Eddums. If there was a sole reason why he'd want to kill me - this would be it. _I regret nothing._


	14. A Spanish Gentleman

**A Spanish Gentleman.**

It was raining in Gotham. "Raining" could be either a light, rather annoying drizzle - or the city was actively trying to drown you with bullets of heavy, freezing rain. There was no in between. Tonight, the city seemed determined to drown everyone out on this dark and stormy night. Dead Switch and her escort huddled in the shadow of a building beside the Wayne monument - out of the worst of the storm and waited for Bane's representative.

She wasn't sure exactly _why_ he wanted to chat with Riddler but the second Edward had heard that the Venom fiend wanted a chat, he'd told her he was far too busy to actually meet him and she would have to go. She tried to point out that sending her was a calculated insult - but Edward would hear none of it. Possibly after hearing the rumours about what Bane had done to Batman's back that one year and knowing he would be unable to keep his mouth shut- he did not want to be the next victim.

Maybe that was what was with the weather. As if a meeting with a seven foot tall wall of pure muscle wasn't enough, it had to be pissing down on her too.

She stiffened when she saw figures moving through the fine mist being sprayed along the ground by the rain. Bane's men were here. Showtime. She moved from the small protection of the building and across the square, towards the statue of Thomas and Martha Wayne. By the time she got there, her coat - and parts of her jumper - were soaked through. The roided out junkies were accompanied by their leader. Bane had actually attended. That was a problem because Edward had not.

The two parties stared at one another for some time before Bane asked ' Where is _El Enigma?_ '

'I'm afraid Riddler couldn't be here.' She replied. 'He sent me. Good evening, Bane.'

' _Buena Noches, dama_ Dead Switch. _Dale a la dama el paraguas, que engañas_!' He spoke harshly to a junkie clutching an umbrella.

She stiffened as his thug sporting an umbrella lurched over and held it out. Suspiciously she took it. Her spanish was definitely rusty - she knew plenty of singular words, but she wasn't _fluent_. Especially when Bane threw in his accent - however she knew enough to know he'd basically told him to hand it over to her. It _was_ a little drier under the umbrella.

'I would not want you to get wet on such a night. So, Nigma would not meet with me in person. _Cobarde_.' Bane snarled, his fists curled almost involuntarily in the rain.

'I said he couldn't be here. I assure you that he _wanted_ to be here. He was, unfortunately, called to his own business.' She replied briskly. 'I apologise if I'm not the person you wanted to speak to, but I am authorised to speak on his behalf.'

'He sends a _mujer_ to do a man's job on a night like this.' Bane sneered. She got the distinct impression this wasn't an insult on her gender, but more on Nigma's lack of spine and decency.

She frowned from under the umbrella. 'What, exactly, have you arranged this meeting for?'

' _La mafia_ are attempting to curtail and steal my shipments of Venom. This will not stand. I intend to send a message to them in swift order, but I need information and do not have the time to beat it out of _el indigno_ for myself before my next shipment. I would like to keep that one. How fast can your employer find this information?'

'Within the hour.' She replied confidently. 'Give me five minutes and I can get the ball rolling.'

This seemed to meet with Bane's approval. 'Make your calls. I will wait - but understand that I do not look kindly upon failure. From you or from _Enigma_.'

With that warning, she made her way back to the protection of the building and called _?_ listed in her phone. He answered on the second ring. 'Dead Switch, is that you?'

'Yes, boss.' She replied. 'He hasn't snapped me in two, yet.'

'What does he want?!' Edward sounded anxious.

'Apparently the mob are attempting to intercept his import of Venom and steal it for themselves. He wants to know which unlucky idiot made the rather stupid order.' She replied and clutched the umbrella as the wind whipped at it mercilessly. 'I told him you could get it within the hour.'

'Really?' Riddler sighed. 'An hour? What do you take me for, Dead Switch?' He remonstrated. 'Expect an email in the next ten minutes. It shouldn't be hard.'

He put the phone down on her. She stared at it in waterlogged sadness for a few seconds. She'd rather hoped that she could have moved this meeting point to somewhere a little drier. Maybe even a little warmer. She was going to catch a cold for this forsure.

'Bueno, pequeño?' He asked as she made her return.

'He can get it for you within ten minutes.' She replied. 'In the meantime - we never got around to discussing payment.'

Bane chuckled. 'No, we did not. What would be fair compensation for ten minutes of "hard work" from The Riddler, hm?'

She had a feeling he was joking. This was not a joke. 'You asked for extremely urgent information. We are providing it for you. This will save you hours of manpower mindlessly beating mobsters across the city.'

Bane was still amused, despite her tone. 'You are a _mujer divertida_. What are you asking for?'

'We can call this a favour. A favour for a favour. Riddler has done something very nice for you in a very short space of time. I'm sure he could use a favour from you in future.'

'My favours do not come so cheap.' Bane replied. 'But perhaps I am feeling generous tonight.'

She arched an eyebrow of her own. 'Shall we settle it, then?'

He lifted a hand and spat into it before he held it out. Dead Switch cringed and genuinely wished her tissue's weren't soaked mush as she did the same and they shook on it. His grasp was surprisingly gentle, considering he could crush her easily.

'We have an unbreakable bond.'

'You could at least buy me dinner, first.' She replied before her brain fully engaged.

Bane - surprisingly - laughed. 'Hilarious. Tell _El Enigma_ that his favour shall be honoured. Whenever he decides to cash it in.' They parted hands and she surreptitiously tried to wipe her hand on her filthy and soaking coat. 'And that _sin carácter_ little man had better bring himself, the next we meet. I do not like to be ignored.'

Her phone pinged. She pulled it out and stared at a mugshot. 'Alonzo Pettrioni?' She asked him. 'Runs distribution down at the docks. He's been stealing your Venom shipments and selling them to Maroni. It doesn't look like he knows what his little side-operation is stealing - or who from.'

'He is about to.' Bane snarled. She would not like to be Alonzo right now. Being him sounded like it was going to be very painful in the near future. 'I thank you for the information, Dead Switch.'

'A pleasure, Bane.' She replied and held out the umbrella.

'Keep the paraguas. I imagine this storm is unlikely to leave us for some time. It may even have a few casualties before the night is through.' He growled lowly and turned to walk away.

Well, that wasn't as hard as Nigma made it out to be.

* * *

A/N: I have a soft spot for Bane. I honestly think we all do - I mean, have you seen his teddy in Asylum? It's _adorable_. Unless you've done something to really piss him off he can be an honest to god gentleman. Conveniently enough - Bane is one of the few rogues that Dead Switch can tolerate. One of a very few and she works with _Edward_.


	15. Directions

**Directions**

Duffle bag - check.

Cane, hat, suit, teddy, wallet, and watch - check.

Lockpicks, switchblade, jacket, jeans, boots - check.

Nigma?

She slid across the - badly - polished tile to a cell decorated in green paint - never going to ask how he got that - with the nameplate _Edward Nigma_ but it was empty. Riddler was not in his cell. Shit.

'Looking for someone, child?'

Ah double shit. She turned to look to the cell next door and saw Jonathan Crane reading IT on his bunk. Was sure that it was on purpose. Somehow, some way - it was on purpose. _Fucking clowns._ 'Doctor Crane.' She acknowledged with his full title. Dead Switch was all too aware the man got testy when you forgot the title. Manners cost nothing. 'What did he do this time?'

Crane gave a bitter smirk and turned the page of his book. Two dark blue eyes stared over his glasses in amusement. 'You assume he did something?'

She bit back an instinctive response of: _it's Edward._ You had to pick your battles when it came to Scarecrow. He may not have his toxin right now - may not even need it - but he had a very sharp memory when it came to people who slighted him and she did not want to meet Toxin hallucination Pennywise pleasethankyouokay. 'I would assume, given the facts, something has happened. Knowing him, his mouth responded before his brain could catch up.' She had guessed right on the money. Scarecrow's smirk stretched ever so slightly. 'I'd be appreciative if you told me where they've taken him.'

The book slipped closed and Crane stood up from the bed to approach the glass. 'Just how appreciative?' He asked slowly.

She knew what he wanted. She'd come prepared to break Edward out of his cell, but Edward wasn't there - Crane was. The pros of letting Scarecrow out were good - distraction from their own escape since The Riddler being missing was hardly a top priority if Scarecrow was loose - plus Crane may - _may_ \- be nicer to her in future. Wishful thinking, he was horrible to everyone - but it could happen. The cons were - well, he could gas them on the way out of the door to give himself time to escape, could get in the way of their own escape attempt or more immediately he could do something spectacularly horrible to her as soon as she opened the door. God knows Crane was unpredictable when he wanted to be.

'Let me out and I'll tell you.'

It was a risk. She hesitated ever so slightly because - well - this wasn't the plan but she wasn't escaping without Edward.

'Rethinking, child?' He cocked his head in the creepiest manner and Christ she was just very slightly terrified of him.

'No, just … admiring the book.' She lied - and he knew it too. He glanced down at the novel in his hand and then at her as she knelt in front of the lock with the lockpicks. They put more money into the locks on the cell doors than into anything else. The locks were tough, but not uncrackable. It just took concentration.

'Would you like to read it?' He asked with relish.

Fucking hated Crane. She needed to concentrate. 'No, thank you.' Come on - don't be a stubborn little - there! Not as tough as Edward's - which had been picked so often they put _extra_ money into ensuring she had a tough time about it. The lock finally yielded and the door swung outward. Scarecrow was free.

He stepped outside of the cell with a sigh of contentment and stretched. Deborah backed away - just in case. Out of his impressive reach - he was taller and longer than Edward and when he stretched he was almost Bane's height. Scarecrow turned his head ever so slightly to look at her - still fucking creepy - 'Nigma is currently in solitary confinement.'

Oh _hell_ that wasn't part of the plan. What happened to the plan? _It was his fucking plan!_ She nodded her thanks. 'I appreciate it, Doctor Crane.'

'As well you should.' He agreed. 'Leave. While your mind is still intact.'

Didn't have to tell her twice but - she paused as he began to walk in the direction of Storage. Dammit, _damn_ it. Might as well go whole hog to get on his good side. Might end up on his bad side. 50/50. You never know. 'Doctor Crane?'

He paused. 'What, now?'

The lockpicks landed by his foot. She probably wouldn't need them anyway - Solitary was a keypad system, no locks to pick there - but Crane might well have use for them if he wanted to get his things.

Before he could even scold her for thinking he couldn't find a way to access the locked door - she was already hot-footing it around the corner and heading for solitary confinement to avoid his possibly affronted wrath.

* * *

A/N: Two updates in one day? Shut up, this wouldn't leave me alone. I need to publish to be able to sleep.

A prelude to another chapter. Never, ever annoy Jonathan Crane and always have an exit strategy in place. The amount of times that Edward alone has been fed toxin in some form or another numbers in the _dozens_ \- yet somehow he still has his mind. One can only assume Scarecrow does it with less potent batches as some form of horrible yet endearing form of affection. Like a brohug with screams. It is an unfortunate health hazard of having The Scarecrow as your best friend. Dead Switch has seen (and occasionally been caught up in) fear toxin's effects. If being nice to Creepy Crane avoids a taste of that - she will be all manners. Hell, she'll even run out and get him coffee.


	16. Tit for tat

**Tit for tat**

Solitary confinement was not the most fun place on earth - well, unless you're Joker, he practically lived there. If security on the normal wards was tough, down here it was a dictatorship. Luckily for her, Crane was on the loose and seemingly having fun with the guards which had pulled all the extra bodies from solitary upstairs in an attempt to contain him.

As if you could contain Scarecrow.

She found Edward hanging in one of the glass-fronted cells - fuming, predictably. He looked like a human mummy in the full body straitjacket and suspended from the ceiling. Really, that was overkill, wasn't it?

He spotted her the second she walked into his line of sight. 'Finally! What is going on up there?'

'Code, Edward.' She replied.

'6-5-1-5-9-3.' He rattled off easily. The door buzzed and opened.

'Scarecrow's on the warpath so we really don't have a lot of time.' She answered him and pulled the switchblade from the bag. The heavy-duty cloth was time-consuming to cut and every second prying him down was a second that meant they could be discovered - or worse, exposed to toxin.

'Jonathan's out?' Edward was puzzled but pleased. 'Your doing, I take it?'

'Had to know where they put you.' She grunted and sawed through another rope. 'What did you even say?!'

At that he looked affronted. 'Why do you believe I said anything?!'

'Because you're _you_.' She was rewarded with an angry silence.

'I never said anything _that_ offensive.' He defended. 'I simply asked Cash what he buffed his hook with - I've been looking for something to shine up the traps.'

There it was.

'And you wonder why he took offence.' The last strap snapped and The Riddler plummeted to the ground - but freedom beckoned.

* * *

Edward Nigma would not say this was karma but -

Well. It was. 'Haven't we been in this situation before?' He teased.

She glared at him, standing there outside of the glass in his suit with the duffle-bag of goodies on one shoulder. 'Edward-'

' _What did you even say?_ ' He mocked. 'Something about "She deserved it?" wasn't it?'

'Shut up - she did.'

It had been an awful mess which, he assumed, was why they'd thrown her into here. Not because she'd stabbed some useless low-level patient enough to make her a sprinkler. That was par for the course at Arkham and to be fair - the unfortunate victim probably _did_ deserve it. Dead Switch did not like bullies - especially if she thought they were targeting new inmates. Proof that she did have a heart, however shrivelled it was.

However - the stint in solitary seemed to have cooled her temper, anyway. The ceiling above them shook - Pamela must be doing quite extensive damage.

'1-6-7-2-9-4. Cut me down.'

The door opened and the bag was placed with care on the ground. A vine tumbled down the corridor behind him, they watched it meander out of sight dubiously.

'Ivy?' She guessed.

Edward shrugged. 'I did what I could with what I had. Hardly difficult to get a plant into her containment cell.'

It was the perfect cover. Ivy would be causing extensive damage in her bid for escape which would cover their own very nicely. Edward found the familiar switchblade and set to work.

They'd be tasting freedom inside of an hour.

* * *

A/N: Takes place directly after _Directions_. This was actually inspired by the comics. Anyone ever read _Batman: Year Zero Dark City?_ Poor Edward ends up as a literal mummy at the end. Full body straitjacket and suspended from the ceiling. Face all busted up - but _pretty_ busted up. Stitched lip, swollen eye, furious look on his face. Pretty sure they really should have gagged him for good measure - he is annoying. The panel was just so pretty to me, I had to do something with it.

So now that's what solitary confinement is.


	17. Dinner

**Dinner.**

If x was the force needed to bring down the wall and Y was the structural efficiency of the -

There was a low humming growl echoing around the computer room. He tried to ignore it, but now it was distracting him. Edward Nigma paused and huffed. He was the master of his own body, It lived to serve his magnificent brain. He would not be cowed -

His stomach growled again and he dropped the marker on the desk with a groan. This was putting him off of his exceedingly important calculations. He checked his watch and noted that it was well past dinner time and - presumably - Dead Switch should have alerted him to take-out hours ago. Where was she?

He stepped out of the computer room into the building at large and noted instantly where she was - hip deep in wiring a trap. Grumbling all the while he walked down the stairs Edward walked up to the side of the contraption - looked like a hydraulic press with spikes. Had he dreamed this up? Surely not, it was too cliche for him - and demanded 'Do you know what time it is?!'

'Boss, I'm busy.'

'It's hours past dinner, Dead Switch, where is it?'

'What, dinner?' Her voice was tinny in the metal she was surrounded by.

Was it so hard to - 'Yes, dinner!' He snarled. Was he that difficult to understand? Were his words too complex? Or had she taken a blow to the head, recently?

'Edward, I warned you when you told me to get this working that once I started I couldn't stop.' Dead Switch replied. 'You said "Just get on with it!" if I recall.'

That conversation rang a faint bell - he hadn't been paying much attention, his calculations had taken a lot of his concentration.'Move aside, then. I'll finish this and _you_ can go get dinner!'

'Not allowed to drive, remember? Something about needing a minder and being bailed out of county lockup? Get one of the thugs to get you something.' She said eventually.

'The idiots always get it wrong.' Edward replied. 'Only ever think about their own stomachs, ungrateful peons.'

'Then get it yourself!' She snapped and cursed as a particularly loud bang emanated from within the structure.

Grumpy, today, weren't we? 'Fine.' He spat and walked away. How hard was it to get his own meal? He was The Riddler. He certainly wasn't going to get Dead Switch anything to eat, either. She'd made it quite clear she was _busy_.

Where to eat? He had a sudden craving for chinese food.

Deborah always called his need to check Yelp and JustEat before he chose an appropriate place to dine pedantic - which was why she had had food poisoning four times this year and burned down two restaurants.

He found an appropriate establishment not too far away. Placing an order for delivery was out of the question since most businesses in Gotham absolutely refused to deliver to shady buildings - there had been a spat of delivery men who had been used as hostages or outright killed, yet another thing Joker had ruined by simply being Joker - which meant he would have to physically order it on the premises.

Edward grumbled to himself as he picked up the keys to the car and headed out into Gotham.

Gotham's chinatown was rife with "authentic" restaurants but the one Edward was interested in was hidden away in a back-street as only the best of them were. It was a well-kept secret of Gotham's.

Despite the fact that he very rarely ever drove himself anywhere, The Riddler did - in fact - know how to drive and he was a damn sight better at it than Dead Switch. Deborah couldn't make it thirty feet without making some kind of traffic violation and was insidiously unrepentant about her record.

Edward, however, was well versed in the letter of the law and was perfectly capable of not drawing attention to himself - which seemed to be a _highly_ uncommon thing in Gotham these days.

The Great Golden Dragon chinese takeaway was almost empty by the time Edward arrived. The suppertime rush had ended and few people had opted to dine in. Even fewer were still here at this time in the night. There was no waiting in line, which was good, Edward had neglected to put on his suit in favour of having no attention paid to him at all. He could only imagine the panicked phonecalls if he had arrived dressed to the nines.

" _Officer! Officer it's the Riddler - He's in the restaurant! He's ordering wontons!"_

… Dead Switch was rubbing off on him.

'What'll it be?' The teenager manning the till looked like a zombie. _Sounded_ like one too. Edward had to wonder if this was how Zsasz saw everyone.

He cleared his throat and ordered the special - watched in rapt fury as the boy slowly pushed buttons on the aging machine. It rattled alarmingly as if it were going to take off. _This_ was one of Gotham's hidden gems? He might have been better off going to Panda Express and risking salmonella.

'Take out?' The boy drawled eventually.

'Yes.' Edward sighed.

'That'll be thirty-two dollars.' The lifeless cashier grumbled.

Edward reached for his back pocket for the billfold he habitually carried - sometimes you just needed physical cash to hand. His hand came up with a custom Italian leather wallet in green and opened it.

It was empty. Had those disgusting cretins known as his workforce emptied it? Had Dead Switch? There should have been at least a hundred dollars in here! He went shopping last week and bought his own weight in beer to shut them all up! How had- Wait. This was last year's wallet. What was it doing - ? So, he'd accidentally swapped wallets. No problem. 'Do you accept coin or here?'

'No.' The cashier snorted at Edward's affronted face. 'Dude, we don't even have a card machine here.'

What. First of all, he'd maimed for less than being called "dude" and second - what establishment of the 21st century doesn't have or _card-readers?!_ Was he in the stone age? Had he travelled back to a more hideous time when the internet seemingly didn't exist?!

Edward Nigma fumed for a moment before he decided to call Dead Switch to sort this mess out. She could bring him the correct wallet, he could get his food, everything would be fine. She knew the security protocols for his computer room and the lock pin for the desk-safe.

….But she wouldn't answer her phone. She was hip-deep in a trap. Edward anagrammed a curse before he tried to remember the number of any of his other useless cretins.

The phone rang. 'Yo! It's Dave.' _Yo?!_ If he didn't need that insufferable little sputum right now-

'David. I need you to do something for me.'

'Who is this?!'

Edward choked back a snarl. 'Your employer you useless sack of- I need you to bring me some cash. _Now._ '

'Oh shit, boss, I am so sorry I didn't - Dead Switch usually -' Dave choked.

' _Dead Switch_ is currently busy.' And a bitch for this whole scenario, but that was besides the point. This would be easier if he hadn't been trying to lay low, but the bat had been snooping recently. 'I need cash. Do you think you are capable of doing that?!' Edward demanded archly.

'Sure, boss!' David replied enthusiastically and put the phone down as Edward realised in a kind of fury that the man hadn't even asked where he should bring it - nor how much.

Dead Switch had hired the _stupidest_ people imaginable. He would be almost impressed, if he wasn't about to strangle her for this debacle.

'An associate of mine is bringing cash.' Edward turned back to the zombie at the till. 'I would be obliged if you could prepare my food for his arrival.'

'Sorry man, no cash, no food.' The cashier drawled.

That was the last straw.

Edward's lips were a thin white line as he stalked closer to the counter. 'Do you know who I am? Maybe this will help you a little.' Edward pulled a business card from his jacket and slid it behind the till and into the cashier's face. A large green question mark stared up at him. He hadn't wanted to do this, but he was hangry and all but about done. He wanted food. 'Is that good currency?' Edward hissed darkly. The cashier was suddenly more alert and awake as he glanced from the card and up to Edward's face. 'I'm afraid I don't have my hat and cane at the minute. Rest assured though, If I don't get my food it won't be Batman on the menu tonight.' Edward threatened. 'Be a good boy and _get me my special!_ '

The spineless little zombie gently took the card, glanced at him in terror and then retreated into the kitchens.

The sound in the restaurant had dipped substantially. A quick glance around his area and it was clear that his little spat with the cashier had not gone unnoticed. People were watching him.

Fantastic. The most likely outcome of this was that everyone had heard him identify himself as The Riddler. He did always suspect his temper would get the best of him one day and lead him into trouble. While getting a bite to eat seemed rather absurd, however. Well, he may as well get ahead of this now.

'If you could all please stay seated. I will be out of your hair shortly. I'm not here to do anything but enjoy cultural cuisine.' There. That ought to make things easier for him to deal with. Time ticked by. Every few minutes someone would look up and watch him, fearfully. How long did a Special take to carton up? He paused when his phone began to vibrate. 'Hello?'

'Boss! I got you your money!' Ah, David. Excellent. He'd realised his mistake. 'Where do I need to bring it?'

The Great Golden Dragon, David. As soon as possible.' Edward replied with a hint of smugness. The whole thing had started out rocky but soon, he'd have his dinner and he could get back to calculating the force needed to turn Batman inside out and make it a reality.

The other patrons were still nervous, but he had every confidence that while the people of Gotham were barely intelligent - they were intelligent enough to know he'd been speaking with an underling - he'd told said underling their current location and he had told them that he had no plans other than eating. That could change if someone made trouble. He glared at the couple nearest him until they would look anywhere than but at him just to make that point clear.

He could hear tyres screeching in the distance and reminded himself that he needed that stupid lunk alive until he'd given him the money to pay for his food.

David rushed into the restaurant with a duffel bag and hastily handed it to his confused employer.

'What is this?!' Edward demanded.

'You - you said you wanted cash, boss!' David replied breathlessly. He was still wearing a balaclava and was holding a pistol. 'So I robbed a bank for you!'

The patrons of the establishment had gone deathly quiet at the sight of the thug and the gun. As if this couldn't have _possibly_ gotten any worse - strobe light began to bounce off the walls, making the cream paint appear red and then blue for a few seconds each time.

'I also may have gotten chased by cops.' Dave gasped.

Edward twitched. He thought about asking David for his pistol and shooting him there and then in his obviously empty skull, but Dead Switch did not particularly like missing out - and he could always use another throwaway to test a trap or two. He may not kill him - but punishment was due.

'David. Could I please see the gun you're holding?' He smiled a bitter little smile. The stupid idiot handed it over without question and Edward's first order of business was to shoot him in the knee. Patrons screamed as David fell to one knee, crying. 'My first rule, David, what is it?'

'We don't know you!' The thug cried and attempted to stem the bleeding coming from his mangled kneecap.

Edward blinked. Is that what Dead Switch had instilled into these morons first? They don't know him? Well, he supposed plausible deniability was _sensible_ but still - 'Any other rule that pertains to the way I run things, David?' Edward asked with a snarl and pointed the gun at Dave's other kneecap.

'I - I don't - Boss I brought you the money!'

'You brought cops!' Edward raged. 'If there is one thing I cannot abide, besides Batman, it's _cops!_ '

He shot the other knee and this time the patrons seemed to expect it. There were no more shrieks or curses from the peanut gallery as the thug spread blood across what looked to be a cheap carpet.

Edward actually felt marginally better. Perhaps he'd let David live after all. He could take his special and escape out of the back-door-

A black blur dropped to the floor in front of him and half-a-second later, Edward registered an armoured fist aiming right for his nose. There was no time to dodge.

Cash flew everywhere and Riddler hit the blood-soaked carpet. His own blood began to soak into his shirt as he looked up at Batman looming over him. Dave was crawling away like the spineless empty-headed dolt he was.

Which left Edward to deal with everyone's favourite rodentman.

'Um,' Edward turned his head ever so slightly to take in the zombie cashier with a white bag of shapeless oblongs. 'Pickup for The…. uh…. The Riddler?'

If Batman looked surprised under that cowl, Edward wouldn't know. 'Late-night snack, Riddler?' He growled. 'You hold a dozen people hostage for dinner?'

'This was absolutely not my intent.' Edward replied truthfully and sighed. 'I just wanted wontons.'

He was never going to get his own dinner again. He would ensure it.

* * *

A/N: This could be linked to Chapter 2: Out of the fire. I'd like to say Dead Switch didn't laugh herself sick when she heard what had happened but I'd be lying. Lets not tell Edward that, shall we? It's a touchy subject. Then there's Dave. _Fucking Dave._ This isn't the first or last thing he does to annoy Edward.

 _Officer it was The Riddler! He ordered the special! Who the hell orders the special?!_

You guys, I am so tired. We have a new furbaby. She's so young and full of energy and pees everywhere. So because I'm tired and I haven't worked on anything for a week straight but my tolerance to energy drinks - have a chapter.


	18. One by one

**One by one**.

A secure WayneTech facility like this should have had more security personnel - but Bruce Wayne's company liked relying on technology in place of people. That had been a mistake when you consider that there was a man in Gotham who had the best hacking skills in the country - perhaps even the world - and both he and his right hand woman had worked at WayneTech for a period of time.

In fact, it would be all too easy for The Riddler to hack into the secure server room. Unfortunately for them, the servers were on a closed network. No outside transmissions of any kind. The facility tended to block them with impunity.

The Riddler was on-site.

The firewalls were proving a challenge, but he'd hacked worse. He could hear Dead Switch moving around the server farm behind him as his fingers moved on the keyboard of the laptop he'd plugged into the station. She seemed antsy that he was here - or was it that Batman could discover what they were doing and come crashing through at any minute?

Probably both - augh. That had failed. Try something new. Try - yes. He knew what would work.

Edward's fingers paused on the keyboard when something beeped from between the servers. Dead Switch emerged looking unhappy. 'Rawlinson, check in. Rawlins- fuck. Someone find out what happened to him.'

Batman? So soon?

They shared a look. Obviously neither of them were absolutely sure that it _was_ Batman. It was entirely possible that Rawlinson had hit a dead zone and was cut off from the transponder monitoring his vitals. That would have tripped an alarm on her phone but -

Another noise. And another. As soon as one stopped, another started. 'He's here.' She predicted. 'And heading this way.'

Their eyes locked briefly for a second - they had never intended for him to be here so soon, if at all. They hadn't been set up that long - Edward turned back to the task at hand - cracking the firewalls. 'I'm not done.'

'How long do you need?'

'Not long.' He hoped. He would not have long. Not with how fast Batman was tearing through his thugs - Dead Switch knew that.

'I'll buy you as much as you need.' She promised. He heard her boots as she turned and began a walk for the door. It sealed and locked behind her which left Edward alone in the air-conditioned room. He was still sweating - despite the cooled air - as his fingers moved faster over the keyboard.

Just how had the dark knight known they were in here? He'd cut the alarms - his riddle hadn't been _easy_ by any means to solve and it could have referred to a _dozen_ WayneTech facilities. He'd intentionally made it difficult - _it should have been difficult!_

He blinked sweat out of his eyes and doubled his efforts - fingers flying over the keyboard. Almost there now - he could do this.

The fingers paused ever so slightly when he heard gunshots from beyond the door and then started up again in quick succession. She was giving him time to do this and he was determined to have the information.

He swore inwardly as the door broke open and Dead Switch came tumbling into his peripheral vision. Clearly, Batman was not playing the game today. Edward wondered off-hand if he'd ran into Joker, Ivy, or someone else tonight that had put him in a foul mood or if this was over what had happened the last time they'd met wits. Save the hostages or arrest him? Batman would always go with hostages - which had allowed Edward to slip out and lay low, until now.

He didn't stop working, even as he knew the bat would be rushing him to stop whatever he was doing. Another minute - perhaps even thirty seconds if the technology gods were smiling upon him today - and they usually smiled on those who helped themselves. He trusted that Deborah would intercept Batman before he had a chance to get near him.

Sure enough there was an angry grunt from Batman somewhere close by, and a bark of 'Stay down, Dead Switch!' Not a chance of that happening - Deborah was a scrapper by very nature and the more times she got up, the more time Edward had.

Ten seconds. Just ten more seconds and he'd have it -

Edward could hear the fight going on - well, the beating she was taking. He could hear her pained gasps and grunts. There was a metallic clang - sounded like one of the server cages had been toppled - seriously could he _not_ wreck the housing of the information Edward needed?

Five seconds. This would be worth it.

He risked a look behind him, Batman had handcuffed Deborah to one of the cages. Blood was streaming out of her lip and there was a cut on her eyebrow. She looked rattled and barely there. Possible concussion.

Shit.

Three - he could hear Batman's cautious, wary approach. The man wasn't stupid. _Firewalls breached - Run FileZip/: RiddleMeThis_.

Two - Edward lashed out with the cane to keep him back. _Downloading server contents_.

One - the cane was pulled violently out of his hands and erupted with an electrical discharge. Batman's gloves were impervious to the shock and he snapped it - probably out of spite. Edward loved his cane.

Zero. _\- Download complete._

He had time to sneakily snatch the thumbdrive before the beating began.

Worth it.

* * *

A/N: I'm gonna hedge my bets that it was the hostages, Edward. Bats gets touchy when there's other people - normal people - involved. He's more like an elephant than a bat. He never forgives or forgets.

This is a chapter that leads on to another chapter. Next chapter features everyone's favourite loony-bin!

What's sleep? Why do I need it? Is this what having a baby is like? God I agree with Dead Switch - children are awful. Well, maybe not the furry ones. Not completely. I'm living on coffee. That is why once this and it's partner chapter are up, I'll be taking a small sanity break (and maybe addictions counselling. I'm going to be hooked on caffeine for life at this rate).


	19. Home Sweet Home

**Home Sweet Home**

The truck was a bumpy ride, the suspension was shit. Every pothole they hit made Deborah groan from the floor where she'd been dumped. Edward himself had elected to sit on the bench and try not to breathe through his swollen nose.

Could that bat-brained menace just stop hitting him in the face, please? At least this time Edward was pretty sure his nose wasn't broken, but it was swollen and irritated and he would probably have two black eyes tomorrow. Lovely.

Another pothole. Dead Switch swore. 'Is it possible to die from concussion?' She rasped.

'Yes.' He replied nonchalantly.

'That driver better be at least trying to avoid potholes.' She swore again as they hit another. 'Gonna kill him.'

'Can it, Dead Switch!' They both glared at their guard, sat on the opposite bench. He was fondling his gun as though he were waiting for an excuse. Typical. Dead Switch looked like she was seriously considering rising up and choking him out with her handcuffs. It _would_ teach them a lesson. The idiots had allowed them to be handcuffed from the front and keep the use of their hands - even Batman knew better than that.

'Do not cause another scene like you did last year, Deborah.'

'Which one?' She smirked.

'The showers.'

'I said quiet or both of you are taking a nap!' Their guard snarled.

Evidently, Batman had another engagement tonight since he was not personally willing to take them to Arkham which - in all honesty - Edward was thankful for. Dead Switch drove like a lunatic but even she was a good driver when compared with Batman. The man was a menace to the roads, as well as Edward's nose. The one and only time he'd actually been awake and in the car had been an eye-opening few minutes of sheer terror - not that he'd shown it.

The truck pulled to a stop and a hatch was pulled back. 'We're here. They're waiting.'

Ah, home sweet home. Hopefully Joker had already absconded for the night. Maybe Jonathan was back in. It had been almost a year since he'd spent very long in Arkham. Practically a record. The back doors opened and - oh _joy_ it was his therapist waiting for him with the most severe look on her face. 'Well hello Doctor Whistler!'

Dead Switch groaned and tried to curl in on herself. 'Not that crazy bitch.'

'Hello, Edward. I had heard you were being brought back and thought the transition might be smoother if I were here to help.'

'Surprised to see me again?' He mocked as he got down from the truck.

'Not really.' Whistler replied which darkened Edward's mood.

'I'll be back out in a few month.' He spat. Behind him, the guards were trying to drag Dead Switch out - she wasn't being cooperative. Kicking and swearing, mostly.

'Please, Edward. Calm yourself. I'm simply here to help.' Whistler replied in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

'I don't need it.' He replied aggressively and cursed when his sinuses throbbed from the spike in blood-pressure. 'What I need is an ice-pack and painkillers.'

'Shortly.' Whistler promised and glanced at the guards as they finally managed to haul Dead Switch out of the back of the van. 'Hello again, Deborah. That is a rather nasty bump on your head.'

'Croc hasn't eaten you yet? Pity.'

Edward snorted. Ow - that hurt.

Switch's jab earned her the butt of a rifle to the back of the head. 'Quiet!'

'Fuck, I have concussion you jackass!' She spat.

Whistler shifted. 'Let us get you both booked in and we can address any lingering injuries you may have. Self-inflicted?'

'Batman.' Edward growled.

'Self-inflicted.' The guard agreed happily. Edward eyed his name-badge. Harold Keegan. Well, Harry, just you wait until the next riot. Just wait.

Intensive treatment didn't seem to have changed that much. If Joker had bowed out for this evening he'd left the place relatively intact. It seemed Whistler wasn't the only one who had heard they were bringing Riddler back in. Cash was waiting and wearing a gluttonous smile. 'Well, well. If it isn't mr "Remember this face, it's going to rule Gotham"!'

He hated Cash. Perhaps almost as much as he hated Batman. Petty little bully. One day, Cash was going to be in his crosshairs. 'Hello Officer Cash. What is cold in the morning, warm at night, shines in the day but never without light?' Edward mocked cheerily.

Cash scowled at him and ran a hand along the prosthetic. 'Get them in the showers!'

They were split - mens and women's showers were opposite sides of the room, after all. They would be stripped of their personal effects and reappear in spanking new Arkham Jumpsuits. Right on time, Dead Switch threw a tantrum. 'No! I want my medical treatment _now!_ I have a fucking concussion and if I don't get it looked at I will personally sue the pants off of you from inside my cell!' She was causing quite a ruckus as they were trying to subdue her. More fighting - his own guard was watching the end of the hall, waiting in case his colleague needed help.

Edward took the opportunity to palm the thumbdrive from WayneTech and swallow it. Wouldn't do much damage and it wasn't the first time that he'd done this. Arkham had such a nasty habit of rifling through his things and wiping his storage devices. He'd gone to great lengths to get this information - wasn't about to let it get wiped. He could hear her being forcibly stripped - unfortunate but necessary.

'Sounds like your girlfriend's having fun, Nigma.'

Edward glared at his own guard in disdain. First the psychologists and now the lowly muscle comment on it. 'She isn't my girlfriend. She works for me.'

'I bet she does.'

Edward clamped down on the impulse to start his own ruckus - he sincerely doubted Harry would last until the next riot. He may even stay in longer just to get to him. He'd spend a few weeks toying with the idea. He didn't even need to do it himself. He could always bribe White or Deadshot to kill him slowly. Maybe call in that favour Jonathan owed him. He'd get a test subject out of it and Edward would be happy in the knowledge that Harry went out of this world screaming and crying - maybe even begging. It would be an example.

'Move it, Nigma. You're slower than my granny!'

Or maybe this should be something he should personally attend to - since Harold seemed so keen on getting on his bad side. Yes, he could stand to be in Arkham a few more weeks. The information wasn't that urgent - he had a point to make before he went after Batman again.

At least the hot water of the showers would ease the swelling in his nose.

* * *

A/N: Honestly. It's a complete mystery, Edward. How do these salacious rumours get around? You'd think that what happened to poor Doctor Rutherford would have quelled these falsities - but I'm afraid it's rather done the … opposite. Who does a guy have to kill to make them stop?

We'll come back to the thumb drive again at some point. Alas, it's now time to take my mid-story break. Only for a few weeks. I can't stop toying with these two. They're utterly ridiculous.


	20. The Babysitter

**The Babysitter**

Caroline Jones - wife to Sgt Earl Jones for twenty years now. Retirement was just on the horizon and it hadn't been easy to get there. A cop's wife was tough. Especially in Gotham - Especially _because_ it was Gotham. All those masked freaks running around - every day you hear of uniformed brothers and sisters dying at their hands. Earl had been lucky so far - he had never had a direct run-in with one of them.

Until now. Until The Riddler needed something only her Earl could get for him.

Now, here she was handcuffed to a chair in what looked to be a rented storage space. Empty breezeblock and concrete square. Just two chairs, her, and one of Riddler's people casually working on Sudoku. Caroline had never expected a woman to be working for that madman - but why not? Today's world was an equal opportunities place.

The woman was blonde, thin, pale and dressed like a biker. A scar across one cheek. She noted it only because she wanted to give the police a comprehensive mug shot _when_ Earl rescued her. Her captor would be almost pretty if she changed her clothes, got out in the sun and put on some weight.

Caroline caught sight of the gun and phone in her lap and thought _then there's that._

The pencil in the woman's hand flipped around and she scrubbed something off the page in anger.

Apart from the muttering, there was very little sound. Perhaps she could get some of their plans. She could be like Miss Marple and help crack the case.

'So,' Caroline began. 'What's your name?'

The woman glanced up at her, two frosty blue eyes caught her own. They were calculating. Clearly this woman wasn't dumb, by any means. 'Dead Switch.' She said eventually.

That wasn't her name. Not her real name. But it helped. 'What does that green man want with Earl?' There was no answer forthcoming. Dead Switch returned to her Sudoku and blatantly ignored her. Well, this never happened to Miss Marple! 'Why kidnap me?'

'Insurance.' Dead Switch replied gruffly. 'To make sure he does as he's told.'

Well, she highly doubted _that_. Earl could barely do what he was told at home without being told twice. 'What if he - doesn't do as he's told?' She asked carefully.

'Mmm, you don't want to find out.' Dead Switch replied and cursed. The pencil eraser came back out and scrubbed away another mistake. 'You should hope he doesn't annoy Riddler.'

'Temper, has he?'

'Absolutely.'

Caroline considered what to say next. She'd learned that this Riddler wanted Earl for something and that they were holding her to make sure he did it. That the man in the green suit had quite the temper, too. 'Do you like working for him?'

Dead Switch had gone back to ignoring her. What a very rude young lady.

The silence was shattered by the phone ringing in a very obnoxious tune. " _Call me - beep me, if you want to reach me!"_ Caroline recognised it from some young kid's tv show and almost scoffed but the woman was quick to answer. There was a rare smile which caused her face to practically beam. She seemed happy to hear from whoever was on the phone. Boyfriend, maybe? Caroline was sure she had the same look on her face when she was meeting Earl. 'Hi,' Caroline couldn't hear the other end of the conversation but she did notice those intelligent blue eyes flicked to her. 'Of course Dave's not watching her. He's terrified of her. No, she's behaving. Remind me again what she did to him when they picked her up?' The phone buzzed and Dead Switch chuckled, a knowing look on Caroline.

Caroline relished that. It had cost her best teapot and the scaldingly fresh tea inside but it had been worth it. 'I think I remember how to watch a hostage. I'm doing Sudoku. Only twice, thank you!' She snapped into the phone which caused Caroline to raise an eyebrow. Dead Switch soon settled down and said quietly 'How long is "soon"? Enough to make the show, right? Mm.' She laughed in a rather filthy tone. 'What's wrong with it? _Gaudy?_ I don't know how you dare. You bought it for me. Yes you did. Two years ago at Christmas.' Sounded like a boyfriend. Sounded like they were talking about a date. Another glance at Caroline, calculating something. 'I'll be sure to avoid the teapot.' Hmph. Well, was there any need? 'See you soon.' She said softly and ended the call.

Caroline expected her to address her - tell her what was happening. At the very least tell her Earl was alive - or hadn't just ran out of Gotham and left her - but she went back to the Sudoku as though she hadn't been interrupted. 'Boyfriend?' Caroline asked.

'Depends on who you ask. He might as well be.'

'Is he working with the same criminal?' Caroline asked. Dead Switch's head came up and stared at her for the longest second.

'You could say that.' She was being vague.

Hmph. Young people these days. Back in her day you made an honest living - not following the whims of people in costumes. She sighed and shifted her old bones on the hard chair she'd been handcuffed in and wondered at the very least if Earl was worried about her.

Soon, huh?

* * *

A/N: We may see Caroline in future chapters - if my friends get their way, anyway. It's no fun watching hostages but someone's gotta do it and lets be honest here, it's not likely to be Edward. He is surprised that Deborah doesn't seem to mind doing it - but it gives her time with her Sudoku. He'd despair at the amount of times she got those puzzles wrong if he could witness it. Probably snatch it right out of her hands after so long and finish it just for his anxiety's sake.

The saga of Dave continues. Poor Dave.

And Deborah's answers are very telling in this one. Could a certain pair be warming up to the idea? Lets hope nobody in Arkham hears that. As for their little argument - they were (probably) talking about the taser. I _hope_ they were talking about the taser.

My respect to anyone who knows the ringtone Debs has set for Edward - it's at least better than the one she set for Crane. X-Files. and yes, I said I was taking a small break. Anyone who reads my stuff knows that when I say something - I do the _complete opposite_.


	21. Time for tea, Alice

**Time for tea, Alice.**

Jervis Tetch was an odd one when it came to the rogues; his obsession was Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. His predilection - blonde haired, blue eyed women. That in and of itself was not terrible. If that were all it were, he would simply have been labelled a stalker. It was that his obsession was coupled with an insane genius for mind-control technology.

Jervis Tetch's obsession might at first glance not seem as terrible as Joker's or Scarecrow's own obsessions, but there was a darker pattern to it than most people realised. When - somewhere in his twisted little mind - he had chosen a victim and had abducted her, he would kill her when she failed to live up to his expectation of the character. There were _worse_ things than merely murder, however. Those indignities came before.

Somehow, that terrified more people of a certain bent (blonde, blue eyed women, specifically) than anything Joker or Scarecrow could do.

Everything he knew on Jervis - every sordid secret, every edge he'd collected - was running through Edward Nigma's head as he let himself into an old storybook land that Hatter had taken over with the aid of a set of lockpicks .

He had hoped that he was wrong, really. That Tetch had more control but when he stepped into the drab and peeling "Forest Wonderland" and saw the wonky set of tables draped with an old, filthy tablecloth - he knew.

Dead Switch was sitting stock-still in a high-backed dining chair.

Tetch seemed to have already dressed her the part in a waterlogged blue dress and pinafore- but as skinny as she was, the dress looked tight. A ribbon had been tied haphazardly in a bow around her hair.

He had _thought_ he'd made it clear that his minions were not to be touched. He'd made it _explicitly_ clear to Jervis simply for this reason. Because he knew that Jervis had a type with his obsessions and genetically, Deborah was a match.

Jervis, however, had seemed unable to control himself in the slightest. Edward had known something was amiss when she hadn't answered her phone. Dead Switch made it a habit, if fully able, to answer her phone to him at all times. He knew she hadn't had a run-in with Batman or, indeed, been arrested - he usually had an alert for such occasions as her fingerprints being entered into law-enforcement databases. He _had_ entertained Tetch recently, and the man had seemed very interested in Deborah.

Almost too interested. When she'd gone missing - Edward had a hunch. It was hardly _detective level_ puzzle-work and he'd hoped he'd been wrong but again, he'd been proven right.

He moved through the fake grass and cardboard trees easily until he reached the table. She would have a mind control chip on her somewhere. Edward had to find it if he had a chance of restoring her to her usual self which would make escape easier.

He paused when he heard a voice. Jervis entered the room practically dancing in his oversized top hat, his hands were full with a cake balanced precariously on a cake-stand. 'Alice!' He exclaimed. 'I have the most splendiferous-' He paused as he spotted Edward but beamed. 'Hare! Are you here for our tea-party?'

Clearly Jervis had either conveniently forgotten or disregarded Edward's firm warnings in the face of a possible Alice. But this was not his Alice. This was someone Edward needed. He watched somewhat angrily as Jervis put the cake with accompanying knife down on the table in front of Deborah and said 'Isn't it wonderful, Alice? The Hare has time for tea!'

'Splendid indeed, Hatter.' She replied. Edward had never heard and hoped never to hear again that level of flatness in her voice or see the blank look on her face.

'Jervis,' Edward greeted, the rage seeping into his voice. 'I'm not here for a tea party. I'm here for Dead Switch.'

'Who?' Jervis asked in confusion. 'Alice, do you know this strange person? Perhaps Caterpillar knows!'

He was really starting to hate Jervis and his Wonderland vocabulary. He wanted his lackey back and he would ensure that he didn't do business with Jervis again for the foreseeable future. 'I want Alice.' He rephrased and dropped a hand on her shoulder. A glowing blue chip was winking up at him from her right wrist - the mind control chip. But first he had to deal with Jervis.

Hatter looked furious at his touching. 'Hare! Remove your hand at once from fair Alice! The _impropriety!_ '

He'd have found it amusing given Jervis' own actions with other former Alices but he was not in the mood for games. Not when it came to Deborah. 'This is your only warning, Jervis. Remove the chip.'

'Tweedle Dee! Tweedle Dum!' Jervis screeched.

Oh not those buffoons. Edward didn't often use the word buffoons but both Dee and Dum absolutely deserved the term. Edward watched rather pityingly as both men attempted to get through the door at the same time and promptly got stuck. Both backed out and attempted to go through the door again at the exact same time.

Pitiful.

His hand bit into her shoulder - not that she showed a flicker of the pain. Eventually the two dumb idiots managed to move through the door and came up from behind Jervis. If Jervis had been teaching the two to be menacing, it wasn't working. Edward had a trick up his sleeve just for morons like these two. 'What has no beginning, middle, or end?' He asked.

Dee and Dum stared at him for a second in surprise before they turned to each other. 'I dunno, do you know?'

'No…'

'An egg?'

'Don't be silly! It's a giraffe.'

They both turned to look at him with the same blitheringly idiotic look on their faces. 'What's the answer?'

Edward smirked, his devilment achieved. 'That would be telling.' He mocked and watched as the two of them fell into fighting again. It was sad really. The answer was a doughnut. It seemed appropriately silly for the occasion and was sure to grab the two dolts attention.

Jervis seemed furious that Edward had distracted his help. 'Hare, you're upsetting my tea-party guests!'

Edward quirked an eyebrow. 'You're upsetting my plans, Jervis. Tit-for-tat, hm?'

'You can't have Alice!'

Unfortunate, that was no longer his choice. He had wanted to try and remain on at least neutral grounds with Jervis, but that appeared unlikely. Edward leaned down and ripped off the mind control chip. For a second nothing happened, but a light seemed to be returning to Deborah's eyes. A shaking hand reached up and pulled the putrid bow out of her hair. She began to wrap it around a fist as she glared at Jervis.

'Alice? Alice I command you to-' Jervis was watching her malevolent expression with rapid uneasiness.

'Alice isn't here right now.' Deborah Scott growled lowly and picked up the cake-knife. Edward knew her intent instinctively and grabbed her in a bear hug as she made to leap over the table at Tetch. 'Let me go! Edward, let me go _now!_ '

'You don't get to make the decisions,' He snarled as she struggled and kicked him; foaming to get at Hatter.

'You don't know what he was going to do to me!' She screamed which annoyed him immensely. _Obviously_ he had some idea, and it hadn't sat well with him in the least. Why else would he have come all this way and put up with Hatter's insanity to pull her out if he didn't know what the madman planned?

'Alice.'

'I'm gonna enjoy cutting off your-' She screamed and waved the knife in a very threatening manner, despite Edward's hold on her.

'You're no Alice! You're a rude and presumptuous pretender!' Hatter spat.

Great. They'd gone from Alice to Not-Alice, but that was just as dangerous, perhaps more so, than simply being Alice. Because in Tetch's insane mind, no pretender shall be suffered to live.

'Time to go,' Edward warned her. 'Right now.'

'Not until-' She spat.

'Now!' He roared.

'Tweedle Dee! Tweedle Dum! Stop twitter-chittering and send them to the Knave of Hearts! Then it shall be off with their heads!'

Edward did not want to meet the Knave of Hearts.

He dragged Deborah - still screaming at Tetch; woman could hold quite the grudge - down and back the way he'd came. The old building seemed to come alive with people - all of them mind-controlled, he'd guess - trying to swipe at him. Stop them from escaping.

'Knave of Hearts! Take them to the queen!'

The Knave of Hearts turned out to be a brute of a man with some affiliation with the clowns - judging by the clown make-up - and wearing a card stuck to his arm. It was painted with a little heart. He was standing in front of the door that Edward had just come through; the only direct access to the outside world.

Fantastic, now what?

Edward slowed down but Dead Switch continued hurtling towards him, the cake knife still in her hand. The Knave made a slow grab for her but she dodged under his guard. She sank the blade into his arm and pulled it down sharply.

The blade sliced through the playing card.

The Knave had stopped moving and seemed confused by what was going on. 'Where-?'

That should have been the end of that, however Deborah's temper was not to be subdued. Especially since she'd been Jervis' puppet for a good few hours and clowns were involved. She'd long hated the clowns since Joker's little favour. The Knave didn't get much further before Deborah drove the knife into his throat. Blood - predictably - splattered everywhere, most notably on the dress. When she turned to look at Edward, she looked demented. It had gone completely Madness Returns.

 _Fantastic_.

With the knife still embedded, he went down. Dead Switch was over him and at the door faster than Riddler could have predicted. Edward was after her in a heartbeat as Jervis yelled his unhappiness.

He wasn't going to be welcome for tea at any point in the near future.

* * *

A/N: Lets be honest here. Tetch scares me _far_ more than Joker does. At least with Joker my death would be sort of amusing (mostly to him) but Tetch - thank god I'm not blonde is all I will say.

She never did get to cut his _wotcher_ off, unfortunately. Jervis being Jervis (and incredibly insane) he forgot about the little encounter with due time. Edward made it a habit to make sure she was perfectly out of sight whenever he had to entertain Hatter from then on because having to rescue her every time Tetch thought she was Alice would get tedious and the temptation to let her cut a certain piece of anatomy off the man would be hard to resist.

 **Guest:** You have earned my respect! It is indeed Kim Possible. I imagine it's a little of column A and a little of column B. Edward cannot resist not knowing something but when he actually watches it - I imagine he's going to insist a change. It's not going to happen.


	22. Lead Foot

**Lead Foot**

The Gotham motorway was - if possible - the most dangerous motorway in the country. Not because of bad design - but because you could almost guarantee that there was a car chase across it at least once per day. Usually, criminals had the decency to avoid rush-hour shenanigans - nothing like bumper to bumper jams to put the brakes on a chase - but even in the early morning there would be traffic.

'It wasn't my fault!'

'Tell me how it wasn't your fault!' The car jerked and swerved around a semi before it righted itself in the correct lane. In the door mirror, a large black car was gaining. Dead Switch snarled and pressed hard on the accelerator. The Riddler was clutching the door and the dashboard, knuckles white but face red as he seethed. 'Because if I remember correctly I told you to take the left onto Bellamy!'

'There were cop cars on Bellamy! We're being chased, Edward!'

'We're being herded like sheep!' He spat back. 'I am not a sheep!'

'Fine. Fine! I fucked up. If you'd like to take the wheel-' She warned him as they swung wide, blowing past a camper-van of surprised tourists.

'No. For once, I think your predilection for bad driving is actually handy.' He muttered and turned around in his seat to stare out the back window. The damn Bat was gaining.

'Good. I need to concentrate.' They were pushing ninety on a seemingly empty stretch of road. If he was going to make his move to put an end to this - it would be soon. They both knew this and they had no desire to be in Arkham right now. Not so close to Thanksgiving. 'Right pocket. Micro-bombs.' Dead Switch grunted.

Edward dug out the tiny tictac dispenser and shook a few into his hand. The window came down and he calculated the likelihood of wind interference as he threw them. Batman tried to avoid the bombs but they hit the hood of his ostentatious car and blew up on impact. The Batmobile swerved and tapered off into the distance.

Was that it? Suspicious. That should not have dissuaded him in the slightest. Dead Switch hesitantly dropped from ninety to seventy and then to sixty, waiting for the other shoe to drop. That couldn't have been it - just a couple of explosives and some maniac driving? If that were all it took Joker would never be in Arkham.

 _ **Crunch**_.

The car jerked as they both jumped. A large black armoured hellion had landed on the hood of the car and began to punch in the windscreen. Cracks were appearing everywhere.

Dead Switch hit the brakes, hard. The Bat disappeared over the front of the car which left deep scores in the metalwork of the hood. After he failed to reappear, she shifted gear and revved the engine.

If she ran over the Bat - Edward doubted it would be enough to kill the vermin, it would probably just piss him off. If she missed - Batman would know what they intended and treat it accordingly. With pain. For a brief second, Edward entertained the idea of giving up - or slinking out of the car to hide. 'Deborah - don't. Don't even - I mean it- _Dead Switch!_ ' He clutched onto the door for dear life. Even Joker had learned to never attempt vehicular manslaughter on the dark knight.

She floored the accelerator.

The car lurched forward but what they hit wasn't a Bat - it was explosive gel which destroyed the engine and both tyres simultaneously. The front of the car flipped and skidded alarmingly in Edward's opinion as it landed on the roof.

Well, the paint job touch-up was going to be extensive and the least expensive part of rebuilding the car. Edward's mechanic would be wringing his hands with glee about now, he imagined.

Both occupants were suspended from their seats. Dead Switch unbuckled and hit the roof with a curse. 'Shit.'

'I told you trying to run him over would be-' He didn't get to finish that. A fist pounded through the driver's window and dragged her through to the other side. Bats was not happy. Edward scrabbled with his own seatbelt and fumbled out onto the carriageway. Batman and Dead Switch were nowhere in sight.

He turned and suddenly there was Batman in the middle of the road.

'If it's any consolation -' Edward began carefully. 'I told her not to do it.'

It didn't look like it was. Batman's eyes narrowed on him ever so slightly - where and what had he done to Deborah? Granted she'd definitely deserved it but it was a little unnerving that Edward hadn't heard her. A curse, a groan - _anything_. He didn't want to die! He'd always assumed he'd die of alcohol poisoning in the Bahamas having made the world a smarter place. Batman, however, didn't even bother with the usual "Come in quietly" or "Give up". He was advancing on Edward like a wraith.

Oh this was going to hurt. He was never letting Dead Switch drive - ever again.

* * *

A/N: He did approximately 9 months later when everything had healed and the incident was mostly forgotten. Returning to Dead Switch's "little problem" when it comes to driving - Edward continues to let her near vehicles because her lead foot is useful for some things. Namely evading the cops and delivering his food while it's still warm. She drives like an angry white van man. Curses like one too.


	23. Do not disturb

**Do not disturb.**

Dead Switch was always punctual. No matter what time or what job, she would be there - exactly on time. Working with Riddler, you were expected to be exactly where he wanted you to be, when he wanted you to be - and none were better at that than Dead Switch.

Which made Mannie and Zowie's predicament that much more worrying. The boss-lady had set this up herself. A meet up to case out a place that the boss was looking at - but she wasn't there.

As far as Mannie and Zowie could recall this sort of thing _never happened._ Even sick she'd turned up to a job - to the boss' eternal fury because if she gave it to his workforce and crippled his operation, he was gonna kill her.

But today - for once - she was nowhere to be found.

Zowie raised an eyebrow and called her for the umpteenth time since the meetup was scheduled half an hour ago - it rang a dozen times and then went to voicemail - as it had done every time since they'd began to call.

'Don't like this.' Mannie growled lowly from the passenger seat of the car they'd "borrowed". 'She's never late.'

'What, you wanna go back to Riddler's place and see where she is?' Zowie demanded as he crunched the end call button without leaving a message. He'd left plenty in half an hour that had gone completely unanswered.

'Yeah, lets do that.' Mannie agreed. 'Better than sitting around here, sticking out like a pair of idiots.'

'What if Batman's there, dumbo?' Zowie returned. 'We could walk right into a police ambush and go down with the boss.'

'Still better than sitting here.'

Zowie hated to admit it - but Mannie was right. Dawdling too long here could attract unwanted attention and unwanted attention could bring about the GCPD. One plate check and they'd both be sitting in lock-up and if the boss _hadn't_ got into a scuffle with Batman, then he would be royally annoyed with their boneheaded refusal to move. If they went back and she turned up, she'd call them in a fit of rage and they could play innocent about the whole thing. They were - after all - the dumb muscle in the boss' eyes.

But they'd been muscle for a while. Dumb had fallen off long ago.

'Fine.' Zowie snapped and started the car.

The first things they found out of place were thrown markers and scribbles on a white-board. Neither Mannie nor Zowie were detectives in the least - but they could work out that an argument had taken place. About what - they weren't sure, it was all Greek to them. Bits and pieces seemed to have been haphazardly smudged and rubbed out, calculations in both the boss' and the boss-lady's handwriting left unfinished or scribbled over. Papers had been flung everywhere. The computer room looked like a bomb site, which was completely out of character for the boss.

Creative difference, maybe?

Next there were clothes. The boss' tie, boss-lady's shoes, his hat, a scarf - they were all leading in a haphazard trail in one direction.

Mannie and Zowie found themselves outside the boss' room. Nobody was allowed in the boss' room. He'd threatened to skin alive the first person he found to have violated it.

'What do we do, Zowie?' Mannie hissed.

He always knew he was the smarter of the two. Zowie pulled out his phone and called Dead Switch's phone one last time. It was vibrating from somewhere in the boss' room. They could hear it - faintly. Mannie raised his eyebrows in surprise and perhaps, slight worry.

'You don't think he killed her, d'you?' He asked. 'I mean - she's not answering and -'

If the boss was anywhere nearby - he would kill them, too - but Zowie had come this far. He grabbed the door-handle as Mannie hissed ' _What are you doing?!'_ and cracked it open.

More clothes strewn everywhere in the boss' room. More tech and papers too, spread across the floor, a desk and a chair. The curtains were closed and it was almost pitch black in there - but as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom - he finally spotted what he was looking for.

The bed was occupied which made him tense up because _any_ sound could wake Riddler. But he wasn't alone. There was a slim arm wrapped across his bare chest and a flash of blonde on one shoulder. Both snoring haphazardly. Both -seemingly - naked. Definitely not dead, then.

Zowie turned and said 'It finally happened.'

'What?!' Mannie pushed in and eyeballed it for himself. 'Holy shit.'

They closed the door as quietly as they could and stood in the corridor awkwardly for a few seconds.

'We saw nothing.' Zowie decided after they'd both digested what they'd seen. ' _Nothing_.'

Mannie followed his lead and nodded. 'What meeting today?' He asked casually.

'Nothing happened today.' Zowie insisted. 'Except maybe we go to the pub and get wrecked. Right now.'

Mannie agreed wholeheartedly. Without a word the two of them turned around and left Riddler and Dead Switch to whatever they'd done and vowed to never speak of it again.

…

In their presence.

* * *

A/N: When a mommy and daddy love each other very much but have very different opinions - they have a screaming match and end up sleeping together. Well, Edward and Deborah do. So dysfunctional. I'm pretty sure Mannie and Zowie are now scarred for life. _They scarred the children!_ They'll never be able to look at their boss or the boss-lady again in the same way.

 _Christ it's about time._

One of these days I will get around to just how this occurred - but believable romance is not my strong suit. For now, let us just believe that this was inevitable. I've been dodging around it for so long. Now comes the fun part. I have more hilarity stored for these two _in a relationship_ than possibly anything else. It's still so dysfunctional - so _so_ dysfunctional - that Scarecrow would possibly spend a good few hours studying it before he murdered them both.

 _ **Guest**_ : Hey thanks! I try to make it entertaining.


	24. Lock And Key

**Lock and Key**

The visitors chairs were hardly comfortable here, but that was probably to discourage staying longer than welcome. He'd been sitting in this uncomfortable chair for an hour, listening to the heart-rate monitor and being accosted by bossy nurses but he refused to move. Not even Batman would have removed him at this point - though he were more than welcome to try, given his current mood. There was something about hospitals that Edward Nigma hated. Perhaps it was the amount of know-it-all doctors in his general vicinity. Edward detested it when other people thought themselves smarter than him. His head was rested on his hands which, in turn, were rested on his beloved cane.

She looked so small and pathetic, right now. So unlike her usual self. He had to admit - at least to himself- there had been a moment of panic when he realised what had happened. This type of situation had played out before - but not like this. Never like this. Dead Switch had never been hurt this seriously before. She'd always made it back to the current hideout, cursing up a storm and snippy. What rankled was that they didn't even have the common decency to threaten. They acted before any kind of defense could be arranged. Before negotiation. He could have understood them if they had shot at her after negotiating some nice goodies. Edward would have expected it coming, so would have Deborah - probably. Getting shot could have been avoided. But they hadn't even done that. They'd shot first and clearly intended to kill her for the merchandise, rather than pay.

This would be the last time he ever dealt with outside buyers. People he didn't know. Even Joker had grudgingly simply maimed her after doing business - Edward could tolerate that. Unhappily - but he did. Trying to _kill_ his associate, however, would not do this buyer any favours. Edward had lost his bargaining chip and quite possibly his slightly less useless lackey. The useless meat-heads in his employ were restless. They had all heard what had happened to their own. Four thugs killed, their "boss-lady" critical in the hospital.

All over Bit coin.

He did feel _some_ guilt for this, it had to be said. He'd been too busy finishing up the math on his latest trap and had sent her in his place.

That could have been him. It _would have been him._

The small, malnourished figure in the bed stirred for the first time since emergency surgery. 'Ah, consciousness at last.' He sighed irritably. She'd made him wait long enough for this.

'What-' Her throat sounded dry - underused. Not surprising. 'Happened?'

'You were shot, Deborah.' Edward replied as he poured a cup of water and promptly took a sip when she held out a hand for it. Did she expect it was for her? After what she'd put him through? He put the cup down out of her reach and flicked through the chart beside her bed.

A quick look at her ascertained that she remembered none of the events that had landed her in hospital in the first place. But clearly, the drugs were having an effect on her. 'Shot? Awww boss,' She croaked. 'Did you risk apprehension to visit me? I'm _touched.'_ She mocked tiredly.

'Shut up, Deborah. You almost died over Bit coin!' He snapped back and replaced her chart. 'Two centimetres!' Edward continued. 'Two centimetres between critical and fatal. Do you understand that you almost bled out and _died?_ Do you understand how inconvenient that would have been to me?'

She stared at the wall for a long few seconds. 'Doesn't sound like me.' She murmured in a drugged haze. 'I like my bits on the inside.' She picked up the flimsy theatre gown she'd been dressed in and down at the wad of bandages around her chest in surprise. 'Huh.'

'I saw the crime scene photos.' He replied in cold fury and paced around the bed. 'If this lowly peon thinks he can rip off The Riddler and shoot my ... favourite lackey, he is severely underestimating my abilities!'

'Favourite. You're going with favourite?' She asked drunkenly and then laughed. 'That's awesome.' Clearly, her verbal filter didn't work while she was high on legal drugs. She had a low tolerance for narcotics, despite how many times she'd been in and out of the asylum.

'No, Deborah. Well. Yes. I had to call an ambulance and police to your location!' Edward growled.

' _You_ ratted me out? Wait - how'd you know-?' She frowned. And then clearly wished she hadn't. Her head hit the comfy pillow and she groaned. Edward had the intelligence to step out of the immediate splash-zone as she turned a pale shade of white. Eventually it faded. Opioids did strange things to your stomach.

'You were wired, Dead Switch.' He replied.

' ... Oh. What'd you hear?'

'As if the sounds weren't enough to go by, you gasped " _Did he just fucking shoot me? He fucking shot me!"_ before you passed out from blood-loss which is the most _redundant_ statement I think I've ever heard from a mouth breather.' Edward mused.

She drunkenly giggled. A nurse appeared at the door at the sound and skirted around Edward as she began to check vitals. His reputation must have had an effect, she didn't try to shoo him out or threaten to call the police. Eminently, she was smarter than her cohorts. That was good.

'Don't forget to take her pulse and check for infection. I would hate for my personnel to experience under-performing care, here. Have you even looked at the wound since you packed it? Did you even bother to wash your hands?!' He admonished.

From out of Edward's point of view the nurse frowned angrily and muttered something about painkillers to chill him out. Deborah snorted and smiled goofily. 'Don't mind Edward, he thinks everyone's an idiot. Which, to be fair, you probably are.'

The nurse threw _her_ a frown, wrote something on her chart and then left as Edward watched with disgust.

'You think I'm gonna get a sticker like they give kids?' She wondered.

'What?'

'I survived my first drive-by shooting!' Deborah replied. 'Wait - do they have stickers for that?'

Edward resisted the urge to reach across the bed and strangle her. It wasn't her fault that they'd pumped her full of opioids to keep her heart rate down. She had almost died. For him. He could be a little forgiving in those circumstances. 'Probably not, after what you said.' The interaction with him seemed to have drained her limited energy. She looked better, though. As though this small interaction had done more than all the surgery and opiate based sedatives in the world. 'You're stable. You're going to be transported to Arkham soon.' He said gently.

'I figured.' She murmured and attempted to bury herself in the comfort of the bed while she could. She stopped and pulled at the bandages.

'Leave it alone.' Edward warned her. 'Remember what happened with Joker's little favour.'

She stopped picking at the bandages immediately and had the decency to look sheepish. 'I guess I'm going to be out of commission for a while.'

'Get some rest.' He advised. 'And know that the feckless cretin who shot you will be dealt with.' He added darkly. 'The morons are working on it.'

'Tape it for me.' She smiled faintly. 'I want something to look forward to.'

He gave a mirthless laugh. 'Oh it will be.' Riddler promised, but she was already asleep. He could see that. With a sigh he pulled a card from his pocket and perched it on the table beside her bed. It was a simple green affair with a large black question mark. It wouldn't be disposed of - even the GCPD knew better than to touch it.

Edward was a master with words but trying to find something to write in the get well soon card had proven difficult. What does one even write in there? What was appropriate, besides "Get well, or else"? He turned to leave and wondered if she'd understand the riddle he'd placed in there at all.

" _What is mine, that only you may have?"_

Edward smiled bitterly as he left the hospital, not even bothering to conceal his departure. There was not a police siren in hearing distance.

Nobody hurt the people he was closest to. They would feel just as much pain as he was, he could assure them of that.

* * *

A/N: Just for Scary, Batty and L.D. Eddy. They put me up to this, I swear!

Guilt does strange things to people. Like makes them sit in uncomfortable chairs, get bitchy and promise retribution. Edward did eventually catch up to the stupid idiot that tried to double-cross him. I'm told the tape is worse than Rutherford's and Deborah was smiling the entire way through. Psychopath. It made it's point, though. Do not weasel out of a deal with Edward by trying to kill his representatives. Especially that one.

The answer to the riddle is _My heart_. Edward why don't you just say it? Seriously. Just say it. Don't make this difficult. You're making this difficult!


	25. The 2 am Drug-Store Incident

**The 2 am Drug-Store Incident.**

Commissioner Gordon wasn't usually one to be on-scene at a random Riddler sighting - especially at three in the morning - but this one both confused and boggled enough for him to take personal interest.

Montague was interviewing the very shaken pharmacist, Bullock was reviewing the CCTV logs. Uniforms were canvassing the street and the GCPD were doing all they could do to try and track their perps - despite Gordon's very pessimistic view that Edward Nigma was too _smart_ to be traced so easily. Interview finished - for now - Montague moved closer to Gordon. 'What've we got?' He asked. He'd heard the very strange 911 call and the dispatch logs but he wanted to hear the full thing - if for nothing more than his own morbid curiosity.

Montague was frowning as she flicked through the meticulous pages of her interview. 'They only took three things. Menaced the pharmacist a little and walked out. No riddles, no fuss.'

Didn't sound like Nigma now that he thought about it.

'What-' He began.

'Commish!' Bullock's head came up from behind the monitor and beckoned him over. 'Store has audio as well as video. Apparently they're the only 24/7 place in North Gotham. They take this kind of thing seriously.'

Made sense. Being the only thing open on a night made them a target. But for Riddler?

Gordon put on the headset and watched.

The drug-store seemed to be doing regular business for two in the morning - none. There was just the cleaning crew and the pharmacist standing behind the counter, checking stock.

The outer doors opened and Gordon focused on a familiar suit.

Riddler and Dead Switch walked into the empty store arguing and meandered their way over to the pharmacist. He hadn't noticed them just yet - but he would. He could hardly ignore the green suit or the biker following behind him - or the prevalent argument they were locked in as they walked through the shelves.

'If you weren't so rough, Deborah-'

'It's not my fault it split!' She snapped.

He adjusted his cuffs - was it Jim's imagination or did they look like they'd both gotten dressed in a hurry? Nigma's appearance was always impeccable - and replied 'Perhaps this is a good opportunity to consider some other forms of contraception?'

Scott turned to stare at him incredulously. 'Seriously?'

'Yes, this seems an appropriate time to rectify that oversight.' He agreed haughtily.

'I'm psychotic without hormones. Are you _absolutely_ sure you want to see what happens with them?' She demanded with a kind of high-pitched warning.

The Riddler paused. 'Touche.'

'Besides. Isn't it better to unload a gun than fire at a bulletproof vest?'

'What are you implying, here?'

'Get the snip.'

Edward Nigma paused and then said in hollow tones 'Absolutely _not_.'

They finally reached the counter of the pharmacy. The argument was shelved for now in favour of both of them turning a glare onto the nervous pharmacist. 'Do you know who I am?' Nigma drawled. It was hardly hard to miss the green suit and cane. The Pharmacist nodded slowly. 'Excellent. We will take your finest generic plan B-'

'Edward.' Scott growled from behind him as she picked at the display.

He sighed heavily. 'Your _finest_ name brand emergency contraceptive. And don't even think about calling the police until _after_ we've left. Trust that I will be monitoring all signals in and out of here in the meantime.' He gave the poor pharmacist a deep glare of suspicion. 'It wouldn't go well for you.'

The pharmacist backed off and then fell into the dispensary.

A pack of pregnancy tests and magnum condoms hit the counter. Riddler turned and raised an eyebrow in silent questioning.

'Just to make sure.' She replied boredly. 'Neither of us would make a good parent.'

Nigma nodded in agreement.

The pharmacist came back minutes later and rang up their items. 'That'll be uh - 79.50?'

Both of them stared at him as though he'd grown a second head. 'That's fucking robbery.' Dead Switch replied flatly.

'I have to agree.' Riddler snarled. 'And we know _a lot_ about robbery.'

The pharmacist went white and pushed the items across the counter. 'Please don't - I just work here.'

'Pathetic.' He snarled as Scott picked them up. Both turned to walk away and the argument recommenced. 'Why did I have to come?!'

'You're the reason I need this in the first place.'

'Please. It's fairly self-evident you've done this before.' She spluttered and hit him with the plan B box. 'Tell me I'm wrong!' Nigma argued.

She said nothing as they left.

Gordon took the headset off and turned to look at the red-faced, chortling Bullock. He looked like Christmas had come early and clearly couldn't choose which joke to crack first. 'Plan B, pregnancy tests, and condoms?' The commissioner frowned.

'You hear that bit about it being his fault? Riddler and Dead Switch are doing the horizontal tango. Do they make magnums that small now?'

Gordon threw Bullock a wooden look. He had no doubt in his mind that Bullock had a lot more material and poor Montague would probably hear them all - repeatedly. Now he knew why Riddler was trying to avoid drawing a large amount of attention to himself, at least.

'What do we do, Commish? Put out an APB on the shaggin' wagon?' Bullock cracked a smirk.

Goddamn it, Bullock. Gordon sighed. 'I don't think we're going to find them. Get copies of the tapes and we'll add it to the list of charges when Batman finds them.'

* * *

A/N: It happened again. Impulse control, you two! Christ, you're getting as bad as Joker and Harley! This one takes place between _Do not disturb_ and _Lock and key_. Some kind of weird pseudo-platform where they find themselves in these situations more and more but aren't emotionally ready to actually confront what it is. So, you know. Friends with benefits.

Bullock kind of stole the show here. I mean, he has all the best lines. Someone rush Riddler to the burns unit! I have this problem where I think I'm genuinely hilarious - so stuff like this happens. When Edward found out they were being charged for something as low-class and as petty as _stealing_ \- he threw a hundred onto the table and told Bullock to take that off his record _now_. Deborah maintained that they were doing the world a huge favour by taking precautions. Nobody wants to see what kind of neurotic mess Edward Nigma would be as a father ... Right? _Right?!_


	26. Early Morning Visit

**Early morning visit**

It was too early. Way too early. 3 in the morning early. The sun hadn't even come up yet - winter mornings being what they were - it wouldn't rise for another 5 hours.

Deborah Scott stumbled out of the bathroom of the house they'd "borrowed" for the foreseeable future in an over-large shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It was green, predictably. It was Edward's shirt, after all.

Toothbrush hanging from her mouth, she paused to at least try to wake up a little more before she thought of breakfast. Bacon sandwiches - she'd kill for a bacon sandwich. Rolled her shoulders. Last night had been fun, but it'd left it's bruises. He was owed a breakfast.

She moved to go down the stairs but paused when she heard an unfamiliar sound.

Leather?

She turned around just as a dark, angry blur rushed the corridor between them. The toothbrush dropped out of her mouth. _Ohshit-_!

* * *

The Riddler's morning was almost as unpleasant - he woke to screaming. He struggled to get into a pair of pants and find his cane before he stormed out of the bedroom to find out what was going on.

His foot tapped a foamed up toothbrush. He stared at it and then at the sturdy cable wrapped around the wooden balcony railing.

Deborah was hanging by an ankle over the upper balcony, his shirt wrapped around her head and arms as she flailed - bra and underwear on show - and she was trying to scream something. What was she saying?

'- _Fucking rodent's in the house!'_

That did what several cups of coffee and a cold shower couldn't achieve in such a short amount of time. Edward was awake and alert. Batman was in the house and had obviously encountered Deborah.

He flicked a switch on the cane and leaned it over the railing slowly to release her from the undignified position the dork knight had left her in when he spotted the flying menace coming at him. The cane came up and swung at head-height but Batman successfully managed to dodge it. The bladed head of the cane sank into the plasterboard as though it were butter and stuck there.

Edward himself was forced back - pinned to the far wall by one massive fist around his throat. 'Riddler.' Batman growled.

Despite being furious at Batman for what he'd done to Deborah - and ruining his lie-in, more importantly - Edward had to smirk bitterly. 'Hello Batman. Here for breakfast?'

'I want information.' Batman snarled.

'I'm afraid my office is _closed_ and will be to _you_ for the foreseeable future.' Edward replied, utterly failing to be intimidated. He could hear Deborah still struggling with the rope around her ankle - and cursing the rodent.

'Why?'

'Contrary to what you believe - I am _not_ the resident squealer.' Edward snarled. 'You come into my _house_ and leave my girlfriend hanging over a railing in the most humiliating position and you expect me to give you information?!'

' _Yes.'_

It astounded him. 'No!'

Batman paused and then reached into his cape. For a second, Edward had horrible visions of coercion but it came out with a batarang that he flicked to the left.

There was a _sli-thunk_ from below them and Deborah's curses tapered off. He'd released her from the rope. 'Now - talk. What's Two-Face's game?'

Oh no. He'd meant it when he said he wasn't the resident squealer. Batman pulled him back and slammed him into the plasterboard of the wall, hard. It left a dent.

'Tell me, Riddler.'

He was about to say something particularly sardonic but spotted Deborah - hair a mess, toothpaste all over his shirt and a furious look on her face - stalking up the stairs with a baseball bat. Where the hell had she found that?! Did the family habitually keep baseball bats in the umbrella-stand?! He refocused on the angry look the dork knight was giving him. 'What animal is the best at hitting a baseball?'

Batman paused.

She swung and connected with his head as Edward kicked him - hard - and wrenched his cane from the wall. 'A bat.' He answered himself. 'Did you honestly think this was going to be easy, Batman?'

'We should start calling him pervert-man.' Dead Switch spat, furiously red in the face. 'You think it's funny to hang a girl off a railing and show off her underwear, Bats?!' _Wham._ She hit him again in a vicious uppercut with the bat. Batman growled and dodged Edward's scything cane.

'I do consider it _very_ rude that he did that.' Edward agreed with a snarl.

'I'm _so_ glad you're on the same page. While we're talking about things Bats thinks is _acceptable_ \- lets talk about the fact he broke in here and ruined _breakfast_.' She swung again but Batman avoided it.

'Or the fact he thinks I habitually drop him information for _free!_ ' Edward snapped and lashed out - he managed to catch Batman's shoulder and ripped a large slice of the suit open.

The bat was backing off now, but that just made him more dangerous - because they had him on the run. 'Like every other meat-headed fool I deal with - you'll have to work for it!' Edward snarled.

'Fine.'

That did not bode well. What had be planned, exactly?

Deborah lashed out again but this time, he saw it coming and grabbed the bat. It was wrenched out of her hands and tossed behind him effortlessly. He countered by throwing Dead Switch down the stairs and tackling Nigma. The hidden blade of his cane was at his own throat. There were some groans and curses coming from down the stairs. 'Tell me what Two-Face is doing.' He demanded and pushed the blade ever closer to Edward's throat.

Edward - when the chips were down - was an out and out coward. It was clear that Deborah was not coming up to rescue him again. He wanted to make sure she was alright and he wanted Batman out of the house. He snarled lowly. 'Dent is hiding in an old nightclub - the Two by Two - I have very little idea what his plans are - but I do know they involve people who were exonerated from their crimes and he intends to rectify that.'

The cane fell back and the bat was backing away. 'If you're lying, Nigma -'

'Just get out.' He fumed and turned his attentions to the bottom of the stairs. When he finally made it down and looked up - Batman was gone.

'We are moving house.' Deborah hissed as she sat up, bruised and hurting, but otherwise unharmed.

Edward glanced up at the carnage they'd wrought upstairs and sighed. 'First, we need to tidy up a little.'

* * *

A/N: Another linked chapter. It's sister chapter will be coming soon. Probably. Maybe sooner than you think. Set _after_ Lock and Key. I keep jumping around. Pervert-man does not like baseball bats or riddling men who are being difficult. Go figure.

Playing house does not go well for Riddler. Batman finds him every time.


	27. Late Night Call

**Late night call**

Crisp sheets after a long day, a warm body to cuddle and no early morning alarm. Deborah Scott could not really think of a single place she'd rather be as she rolled over in the comfortable bed.

Hey eyes opened briefly to survey the room - ever on alert - and slipped closed.

Then snapped open again.

There was a shadow in the room that was darker than the others, even this late at night. No - for the love of fucking god - no.

Batman.

A hand reached out and nudged Edward. The nudges became more alarmed as the dark knight peeled himself from the wall and approached the bed.

'Whuh- what?!' He snapped and rolled to look at her, blearily angry. He spotted Batman as she pulled the sheets around her and growled lowly to himself. 'Really?'

'The information you gave me was wrong, Nigma.'

Edward scoffed in affront. 'You come into my _new_ residence, stalk us while we're sleeping and you tell me that? My information is _never_ wrong.'

'Unless you want it to be.' He growled. 'You didn't tell the whole truth about Two-Face's location. The Two by Two was a staging point.'

'Do I have to do all your work for you, detective?' Edward bit grumpily. 'Are you so incapable of doing it your-Ah. I wouldn't.' He warned.

The Bat went to lunge over the bed and punch him but backed away when Edward pulled a gun from under his pillow. 'Guns, Riddler?'

'What can I say, I get _paranoid_.' He snarled. 'With good reason.'

It was a stalemate. Edward wasn't going to give up the information and Batman couldn't beat it out of him with the gun he had. Edward was an expert marksman - a shot this close range would be too easy to make. The suit may be armoured in places like the chest, but the cowl? The leg?

She almost wished Edward had a reason. It would be worth it because _how long has he been standing there like a giant bat-eared-perv?!_

'Tell me the truth, Riddler.'

'I told you I don't give out information for free.' He returned. 'Now get out. You've had enough information out of me.'

'Not until you tell me where Two-Face is.' Batman replied.

She knew the very second Edward had made up his mind because his eyes darkened as he squeezed the trigger. _**Click.**_ What. _**Click - click**_. There should have been a whole magazine of bullets in that gun!

Batman opened his fist and tipped it slightly. They watched as bullets fell to the floor.

Goddamn Batman. Had to take the fun out of everything - even shooting him. She reached down slowly beside the bed, pretended to adjust the quilt but - the baseball bat was gone. Goddamn hypocrite monster. When it's his turn for the beating he never plays fair.

He must've known she was looking for the bat - he glared at her hard before he switched back to Edward and snarled 'Where is Dent, Riddler?'

'I am _**not**_ your resident directory for villains!' He argued. Batman's resolve seemingly snapped since he lunged at Edward and dragged him out of the bed and into a wall. There was a long and awful moment when both Edward and Batman registered what he was wearing - a pair of novelty Batman boxers. "Take a ride on the batmobile!" They'd been Dead Switch's birthday present for him last year.

'The underwear is entirely coincidental.' Edward choked as Deborah facepalmed from the bed. That was difficult to shake off.

'He has these people's families, Nigma. Women, children. Wives …. Girlfriends.' Batman hissed. 'He's going to punish them for their family member escaping justice. So tell. Me. Where. He. Is.'

'Are you seriously attempting to try and evoke my conscience here, Batman? It's a new low.' Edward spat back. 'I don't have one.'

The bat reared back to punch him. Edward braced and - goddamn it! 'The Cain and Abel family centre!' In the silence that erupted Dead Switch realised it had come out of her own mouth.

Both men turned to look at her in surprise.

'You got what you want, Bats, now get out!' She flung her pillow at him.

'Is she telling the truth, Nigma?' Batman growled.

'I-' He began but was slammed into the wall. 'Yes.' He snarled lowly.

'If it's not, I'm coming back here.' Edward was dropped and, seconds later, so was a smoke bomb. When it finally cleared - he was unsurprisingly gone. Bigger fish to fry - or Dents to find as it may have been. The only sign he'd been there was the bullets on the floor, the cracks in the wall and the unhappy faces of Riddler and Dead Switch who knew that tonight - sleep was no longer going to be an option.

…

He'd stolen her baseball bat!

* * *

A/N: The return of pervert-man who never plays fair when it's his turn to be the punch-bag.

Edward and Deborah have a tradition of finding the literal worst birthday presents they can find for each other For the Batman undies, she was rewarded with a shirt (green) with the words " _DADDY'S LITTLE TERRORIST_ ". She loved it right up until she spotted Harley wandering around in a rather similar t-shirt and the penny dropped. Edward laughed hard at that victory.

She never did get that bat back. One can only assume it was thrown away. Pity.


	28. Coffee

**Coffee**

Coffee was one of the few things that The Riddler and Dead Switch agreed on - Both of them practically eked out an existence on the substance. It stood to reason that if they weren't plotting nefariously difficult ways to murder everyone's favourite rodent - they'd be in a coffee-shop.

Their favourite was _hilariously_ named Topped Off. Both criminals were regulars and the staff mostly didn't cringe anymore when one of them walked in. The shop also made a damn good pumpkin spice latte. Both of them were now sat at a window table. Edward was staring from his mug to the street outside; Deborah was reading a dog-eared copy of Discworld in an easy silence. They listened to the cop cars that flew up the road towards distant explosions and sipped on their coffee.

The silence in the coffee-shop of which they were the only patrons today was light, despite what was going on outside.

'What talks like a thug, acts like a thug - but isn't a thug?' He mused.

Blue eyes met blue eyes with a quirked eyebrow. 'Are you postulating or do you genuinely want an answer?' She asked.

'Both.'

Dead Switch groaned. 'I need more coffee for this.' The book fell onto the table and she picked up her mug. She'd made it to the counter to order a refill when she heard her name. She turned ever so slightly and asked 'You want another one too, Edward?'

'No.' He was leaned back, toying with his cup in thought. 'It's the answer to my riddle.'

'My name.' She dead-panned and took her coffee. Outside the cafe's impressive windows, civilians were scattering around the street as plumes of smoke drifted through the buildings.

'You,' He agreed. 'Are an interesting riddle.'

The eyebrow raised ever so slightly higher and she sipped her coffee. The book remained on the table. 'Edward, don't do this.'

'What?' He demanded.

'I _do_ know what happened to the last object of your query affections.' Deborah replied nonchalantly. 'I'm not another Jessica DuChamp.'

'Of course not.' Edward snorted. 'For one, this riddle is far more interesting than that.'

She rolled her eyes. The latest one was almost always far more interesting than the riddle that came before, because he had the answer to that one. It was boring.

'Tell me why you act like a primitive, Deborah. You're conventionally clever, I'll give you that. You keep up with me, after all. It's not as easy as it looks.'

She was about to reply when an explosion erupted closer than than previous ones. It shook the lights in the cafe and caused several cups to fall - more police cruisers raced down the street. They watched them silently. Dead Switch shrugged as she settled back into her chair. 'Perhaps I like to be underestimated. Perhaps it's the lure of ignorance. Ignorance is bliss.'

'We're both aware of that, but it's not it.' Edward replied seriously from over the top of his mug.

'Is this a date, Edward?' She countered.

The Riddler looked indignant for a second. 'How can this be a date? We come here all the time.'

'You're paying.' She pointed out. 'You never pay.' The police cars were now all going a completely opposite way - and in a hurry. Pedestrians were also running the same way as another explosion rocked the coffee-shop. Both people instinctively grabbed their drinks to prevent them from spilling.

'Why would this be a date?' He demanded.

' _What is mine that only you may have?_ ' She quoted and watched with a sadistic smirk as he froze. 'It took me a while to work out - but it gave me something to do in recovery. The simple ones are sometimes the most difficult. You bring me out here for coffee, ask me riddles about myself, and then deny it's a date?'

Joker appeared in the street, carrying a gaudily painted missile launcher and cackled madly. The Riddler and Dead Switch blinked in surprise. Who the _hell_ gave Joker a missile launcher? Thankfully, he hadn't seen them yet.

'We're leaving.' Edward decided hurriedly.

The book was snapped shut and stuffed into Dead Switch's leather jacket. They abandoned their coffee and made a bee-line for the counter. The alleyway would be a much better choice of vacating the coffee-shop, rather than stepping foot outside and into Joker's range.

The Riddler paused as they passed the terrified cashier and said 'This may be a bad time to ask, but could I get a pumpkin spice to go? Extra pumpkin, extra spice?' She stared at him incredulously as the light of an explosion lit up the coffee-shop in yellow and white. 'Bad time. Perhaps another.' He mused and slipped out of the back door behind Deborah.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry but you cannot pry the idea that Edward is a basic white bitch from my brain. He absolutely loves Pumpkin Spice season. My friends are now utterly _convinced_ that he introduced this love to the Master of Fear and now Jonathan Crane dabbles in the Pumpkin Spice fad. Now I can't unsee _that_.

Joker ruins more things than he realises when he decides to go on a cackling rampage. Nobody is _quite_ sure how he managed to get his hands on a rocket launcher - nobody asked many questions beyond "How long is he going to stay in Arkham this time?"


	29. Aphenphosmphobia

A/N: At the top to prevent me screaming to death … maybe. This one's for _Scary Scarecrows_ as an apology for, well, Jason Todd and for _L.D Eddy_ who puts up with my insane ramblings on a daily basis and gave me this _wonderful_ gift of Jonathan Crane being a misanthropist. I have found a taste for torturing Jonathan Crane alongside Edward and neither escape this chapter without some sort of passive trauma. Thanks for the advice, Scary. Last Will and Testament updated to include clauses about my stuff being contaminated with fear gas. I mean, he gets the last laugh but Jonny's ... unpredictable when provoked. I'm sorry, Doctor Crane (I'm really not), You deserve better (nah, you don't), please don't kill me (that one's heartfelt! Truly!). I don't want to be on Scarecrow's shit-list but this was too funny for me to leave alone. Doctor Crane does not put up with a lot of things but most notably … this.

* * *

Jonathan Crane was a master psychologist - which helped when dealing with his insane peers. Normal people were just too easy for him to toy with at this point. Rogues were a little harder and a little more fun. The most easy to manipulate just happened to consider him his best friend - Jonathan himself considered Edward Nigma to be an annoying (but interesting) ball of pride, self-loathing, ego, and avante-garde narcissism. He could be _fascinated_ by Edward; on occasion he even _needed_ The Riddler - no. Not in that way. Anyone who even suggested _that_ would get tortured to death by their own nightmares slowly over the course of weeks and do not tell Edward, _ever_ , that he needed that egotistical maniac.

Right now, he needed Edward's help to access some very volatile chemicals for an experimental batch of Fear Gas. Edward had accepted presumably because Jonathan had posed the problem as one that could possibly stump even him and Edward did not take well to criticism on his skills - as Jonathan inherently knew.

Riddler really _was_ easy to manipulate when you knew which buttons to press.

Unfortunately for Jonathan, inviting Edward to help him steal these chemicals also invited his favourite lackey along to be their driver and busy-person. Personally, Jonathan had nothing against Dead Switch - he knew (and was rather amused by) her small fear of him - and she had every right to fear him. _**Everyone should fear him**_.

The heist had, surprisingly, gone off without a hitch. It was their attitudes whilst on the heist that had upset Scarecrow. Edward seemed determined to _show off_ during the whole thing and like a childish game of oneupmanship, Dead Switch had attempted to keep up. She was no Edward - but gradually, infuriatingly, the flirting had begun to get on his last nerve. Jonathan remembered why he hated working with Edward when Dead Switch was involved - there would be too much overt activity that he would pick up on.

A glance here, a touch there - to a psychologist like Crane it meant something. It would always mean something.

While he was _happy_ \- surprised? Curious? Nauseated? - Edward had finally faced his feelings, now was not the time to be indulging in them; especially while on a heist with him. Jonathan held no truck with flirting like you were a _**goddamn teenager**_ in the middle of business. Perhaps as a psychologist he should have seen this coming. Perhaps he had inwardly hoped that they could be _professional_ for one night.

By the time the three got into the car with their prize, Jonathan had hit his limit of acceptable niceties when Edward leaned over and whispered something - a riddle no doubt - into Dead Switch's ear which caused a blush and a filthy laugh. His hand was resting on her thigh, fingers digging into the flesh.

 _Children._

Well, he had what he needed now. There was really no reason to put up with this any longer.

He slid the burlap down his face - not that he needed it for his own product, Jonathan could no longer feel fear - and pulled the pin on one of his very special concoctions. He dumped it into the footwell and waited.

Edward was - unsurprisingly - the first to note that something was amiss. 'Jonathan why are you wearing your mask?'

He remained silent, eyes locked on Edward as he waited for the first signs.

Dead Switch was the next to pick up on it. She coughed at a bitter taste in the air and begun to look uneasy. 'Can you smell that?'

Jonathan got out of the car with his chemicals as Edward paled. The man was a genius but painfully slow on the uptake. 'Jon?' He croaked.

Behind the burlap, Scarecrow grinned. He wasn't going to _tell_ Edward what he had done - why ruin the suspense? - but Edward knew, all the same, what was happening.

He made his way to the driver's seat as Dead Switch began to hyperventilate. In an instant the door was open. He took the keys, shut it, and then locked them both inside. True, they could have opened it from the inside but by now the gas should be working. He was tempted to stay - Jonathan had never experimented with such a quantity of gas in such a confined space - but he had a feeling the lovely shrieks that even now looked like they were going to burst forth were going to attract some attention. Best to be far away when that happened. Jonathan tapped on the glass, nevertheless, to get things started. There was a whimper from Edward.

'Once you learn to behave properly in the presence of others, I expect an apology. Until then - _**Scream**_.'

It began as he walked away and for a moment he basked in how lovely it sounded. Really. They should know better than to act like love-struck fools around him.


	30. Disturbance

**Disturbance**

A/N: The full title would be _"A disturbance in the force"_. Something short and nasty. Edward, Edward, Edward. That temper of yours, again! Thankfully it's not aimed at poor Deborah this time. When will the asylum guards learn that it's not conductive to their health to get on the bad side of a rogue?

* * *

Edward Nigma prided himself on knowing everything worth knowing. Everything worth knowing about an Arkham breakout was simple. You needed the keypad numbers for certain doors, the layout of the asylum and the guard patrol times. It had taken him some time to mentally map every guard's route through the asylum, but there was little else for him to do and he hated to see his mind stagnate. He knew every guard patrol, every break, every footfall. He had perfectly timed them- and it did so come in handy.

For today's mental exercise - escape - he'd brought Dead Switch. Two of them was hardly any more difficult than simply his escape, she could keep up with him and it was helpful to have a second pair of eyes, it meant he could devote himself fully to counting.

In exactly fifty-six seconds, a guard would be patrolling this corridor but that would not be a problem because in forty-two the corridor ahead of them would be empty and the cameras would be sweeping the opposite way they needed to be.

They managed the corridor without incident and exactly one minute later, The Riddler and Dead Switch were turning into a much more relaxed area of the asylum. There should have been no patrols here; no cameras either.

The security guard was not where he should be. He was yawning and shifting from foot to foot - facing away from them. _Always_ and without fail something was _wrong_. Not with him or his plans - absolutely not, they were perfect - but with these people. They seemed determined to - to - fuck it up!

Bob should not be here. Bob should be taking his lunch break at the cafeteria right now, enjoying a portion of macaroni cheese with e coli because Bob was not smart enough to remember that the _same_ place that fed the inmates bacteria laden food also fed the staff and he was definitely _not_ clever enough to think just a little further and bring his own lunch.

Well, it was a good thing Edward had brought Deborah with him after all and she had seemingly had the same thought. She held out a hand. 'I need your tie.'

There were exactly three scenarios that necessitated the use of his tie and only his tie.

He pulled it out of the pocket he'd stuffed it hastily into and moved back, into the shadows as she approached the unsuspecting guard.

The purple silk fluttered past the guard's face and he turned to see where it had come from but she moved with him, always in his blind spot. In seconds Deborah had his gun out of the holster and against the back of his skull. Bob froze instantly. _Some_ preservation instinct, then.

Edward peeled out of the shadows and glared at his anomaly. 'Well, that was rather too easy. Do they employ the lowest percentile of morons here?'

Bob stiffened as the gun was forced against the back of his skull harder. 'The man just asked you a question.' Dead Switch growled.

He could see the indecision in Bob's face. Saying no would mean he may be forced to prove it, and the guards were well aware that against Nigma, they were all morons. Agreeing with him was no better - there was a good chance you'd end up another victim of Riddler's war on stupidity. It was a no-win situation which was why Bob employed what little braincells he had left.

'Nigma-' He choked.

'Don't try familiarity with me,' Edward snarled. 'It rarely ever works. Why are you not casually becoming acquainted with food poisoning right now, Bob? You _aren't_ meant to be here.'

'B-Batman!' He choked. 'Batman asked the director to change the patrol times. Nigma, I'd love to be in the cafeteria right now. It's macaroni night -'

Batman? Batman had requested the patrol change? That meddling, leathery - 'You're lying - no. You're _cheating_!'

'No! No - we're not -'

Edward's face had gone white with rage and was slowly becoming crimson as he realised Batman had expected an escape from him. Batman had expected him to become familiar with the guards' patrol times. Unfortunately, Batman was not in front of Edward right now. Bob was. Deborah gave a dark little sound of disappointment from behind him. 'Wrong answer.'

They found Bob's corpse five days later, stuffed into a vent. There was no sign of Riddler or Dead Switch. Despite the increased security measures and the change in patrol rotation - The Riddler had still managed to escape.


	31. Adrenaline

**Adrenaline.**

Dead Switch doesn't remember waking up. Perhaps she never slept. The first she can actively remember - she's shaking, clutching onto the bathroom sink and trying not to throw up. She remembers drinking water with an unsteady hand, feeling it soothe the sticky soreness of her throat and regretting it when a violent heave makes her retch.

She remembers the mad cackles. The glint of the knife. The taunting, teasing, terrifying words as the knife cuts. Retches again. Her whole body feels like it's gone ten rounds with Batman. Everything aches and several things feel over-sensitive and painful. Her throat, for starters. Her fingernails are broken and bloody and her arms are covered in scratches. Hardly deep since she didn't have long or jagged fingernails and the cuts have long since stopped bleeding.

She doesn't remember why or how that happened.

Three glasses of water and some time throwing up later, she staggers out of the bathroom, still in her sweat-soaked clothes and tries to remember what happened yesterday. Her phone is cracked in her pocket but still legible. She's somehow skipped a whole day.

The place they're inhabiting is silent and inexplicably, that makes her afraid. It shouldn't _be_ this quiet. Is - is she alone here? She finds herself almost afraid to be alone here. Somewhat afraid of if she _isn't_.

What happened? How could she miss an entire day?

A rustle on the edge of hearing, like bat wings sends her careening into a wall, a scream on the edge of her tongue but she clamps it down. No - there's - there's nobody here. She would - she would know, wouldn't she?

A whole day.

She feels like she's going to be sick again as she forces herself from the wall and sluggishly moves toward the computer room. They had webcams all over the place - Edward and his paranoia - they would tell her what she couldn't remember. Fill in some gaps. They would tell her if anyone else was here, with her.

She tries not to look down the stairs, see how high she's climbed. She subconsciously knows that it would be too high and if she looked - she'd be stuck there. She's never been scared of heights, before now. Not even when Batman hung her from a gargoyle had she been scared of heights. More annoyed at the pain her ankles were suffering, really. Now, she was terrified of going up the stairs!

Her legs feel shaky and liable to collapse, as though they can't hold her weight. Another shiver racks her frame. She's still flushed, achy. As though she's in the middle of a bout of flu. A sound, like a distant cackle, makes her pause and then rush all of a sudden for the computer room door. It slams open and a scream - a real scream, not something she could only half-hear, maybe imagine in the distance - makes _her_ scream and scramble back, almost falling down the stairs again.

In the corner, as far back and as small a target as he can make himself, is Riddler. He looks worse than she is - much worse. His skin is pallid and sweaty. His hair a mess, as though he'd been running his hands through it and gripping it in a fervor. His shirt is dark with sweat and tears. He looks like he hasn't slept, either.

He looks so afraid.

Her heart is beating in her chest almost painfully after her instinctive leap back. Her legs feel weaker than ever and she just wants to collapse onto the floor and … cry. In relief. In fear. Some sort of emotion is bubbling but she can't decipher it, right now.

'No- no, no, no. I didn't - I didn't cheat I didn't - not worthless, not stupid - NOT!' He's mumbling to himself in a frenzy. It brings the first suspicion to her mind. She accesses the webcams with her credentials and begins to watch the footage from hours ago.

There she is, checking paperwork in the kitchenette. The video her takes note of someone before the webcam does, the doorway isn't covered by the lens - an oversight she will have to correct - and she sees a familiar shapeless sacking as it comes into view. Scarecrow. An arm flicks out suddenly, seemingly catching her off-guard. There's a flash of something in his sleeve. A mechanism for an aerosol. Gassed with Fear Toxin. The reaction is almost instant. Scarecrow steps over her as she collapses to the floor and heads deeper into the lair.

She flicks through the webcams until she picks him up again, coming up the stairs she herself had barely managed a few minutes ago and he finds Edward coming out - probably to investigate the screaming. There is a glint of a needle as he's forced back into the computer room - the one room in the place that does not have webcams because Edward is a paranoid bastard.

At least she has an answer as to why she had recovered, first. The needles were stronger doses. Calculated cruelty, she'd imagine. What she can't understand is why and thinking about it makes her head _throb_.

Another whimper from Edward and she finally turns to properly assess him, now she knows what she's dealing with. A Toxin episode. 'Edward? Edward-' She makes the mistake of touching him and he lashes out reactively. The punch is hard, but her own skittishness saves her as she jumps back in alarm and the fist grazes her cheek.

She falls on her ass and feels the jolt as everything complains. No touching him. Touching him makes him defensive. She shuffles back and settles against a wall to watch him. Someone has to make sure that he doesn't attempt suicide or otherwise injure himself and wouldn't you know it - she's pretty sure he'd kill her if he found out one of the other thugs was listening to his crying. He mumbles something like 'Father.'

There's the daddy issues on show again. Not everyone had a good upbringing and everyone had some tragic backstory just below the surface, just where the Toxin can reach. She shifts her aching back and settles in for the long haul, not sure when that evil juice was going to wear off. If it wore off. Whatever Edward had done to Crane this time - it had to have been a doozy. Tiredness settles into her bones. It seems she hadn't actually spent the night sleeping - more like screaming and whimpering. As she gets comfortable and her heart-rate begins to return to normal, the tiredness becomes pervasive - feels like she hasn't slept in a week of bad days - but she has to watch Edward through his episode.

Is he still breathing? She gets up sorely to check and can't hear a mumble anymore. A hand ghosts millimetres from his face but she can't even feel his breath. Gingerly, she reaches out to touch his wrist -

He rears up, grabs her arm with inhuman strength and screams ' _YOU LET ME DIE'_ as he wraps his hands around her neck. His skin a mottled grey as cockroaches and maggots pour out of every surface, including him. He's suffocating her. There are cackles in the distance, throaty, hysterical cackles she knows she hates and fears as she fights with Zombie Riddler. The thud of her own blood in her ears sounds more like the beating of leathery wings. Can't breathe - can't breathe - can't -!

She jolts up suddenly and her body protests. Eyes scan everywhere looking at everything as she hyperventilates - no cockroaches. No dead Edward. He's still in the corner whimpering about a belt and twitching, rocking. He's alive. He - he isn't dead. She hasn't killed him. Hasn't let him die. The relief about that is sickening.

She lets out a shaky breath and realises she'd dozed off for a second. Shudders. Toxin nightmares are all too much like reality for her to be able to tell the two apart.

Back to watching him cry and beg his father - a man dead almost two decades - as though Edward were barely five. _Not the belt - no, I didn't cheat, I didn't! Not a moron, not stupid - not stupid!_ She makes herself uncomfortable to avoid falling asleep because she does not want to meet Zombie Riddler again. Please, God, if you're listening. Edward is still mumbling in the corner. His protests have seemingly moved on from his childhood. _Not again - not again, I can't fail again-I can't!_

She considers calling Crane for all of a second. Nigma is his friend. He's currently high - and hating every second of it - on Scarecrow's drug. On some level, Scarecrow cares. If he didn't, he'd have given them the full dose treatment and been here to take detailed notes as they lost their minds and died. He has clearly been here to teach Edward a lesson and she is simply collateral damage. There would be no mercy from Doctor Crane.

Besides, his voice gives her the fucking creeps. There are stories about the people he's talked into attempting suicide and honestly, she could believe it. A few even followed through, if she remembers it rightly. The only reason they house him next to Edward in Arkham is because Riddler's too self-obsessed and egotistical to follow through, even with Crane's prodding.

So it's just them - well, her - here. Dealing with this. Listening to Edward's muted, pleading sobs, watching him to make sure he didn't do something …. Stupid (shut up, her brain hurts right now. It's been violated) and jumping at shadows, afraid to even go to sleep.

It is going to be a long night and an even longer week when he finally becomes lucid and she _still_ probably won't know what Edward's done to deserve this kind of retribution.

* * *

A/N: Have a 1600 word vomit on why Fear Toxin is evil and Crane is the devil. It fucks you up. Even after the fun hallucinations and screaming fits. Even after the worst is over - it still finds ways to come back and bite you. She was right, though. She never did find out what Edward did to make him so mad. I think he's almost ashamed to tell her he did something stupid. I'm so mean to the dumb dorks. One of these days, I will be kind. Maybe.

This chapter's in a slightly different style to my usual rambles, it's kind of refreshing, really. A play-by-play of the aftermath of Scarecrow as it happens. My last one before Christmas, this time I swear it!

 _ **Guest:**_ High praise indeed! Thank you! Now that I think about it, Joker's in some of these chapters (and some subsequent chapters I have yet to show) rather a lot more than I'd planned. Hahaha I have no idea how that happened but since I'm not laughing myself to death, I assume he doesn't mind - unlike Eddie and Jonny who are just _ungrateful_.


	32. Apologies

**Apologies** _ **.**_

A/N: I blame this on Michael Buble and alcohol. A lot of alcohol. This is garbage but garbage of the cutest order. Inspired by Christmas (Baby Please Come Home). Belated Christmas present for you guys! Dead Switch's first ever incarnation had a scarf with question marks - something that marked her as an agent of Riddler. It's newest incarnation has a slightly different origin.

* * *

This wasn't usually his scene.

Christmas Eve in front of Gotham City Hall (Rebuilt three times in five years, people seem to like attacking the most "official" building they can find but it's not the record for most rebuilds, that goes to the courthouse. Really.) was not where The Riddler had intended to be. He had no nefarious plans involving the decorations - tempting but too much work. Besides, Julian Day was probably planning something for tomorrow - no grand schemes for The Dark Knight today. No, he was here to brood. The patrons even now moved unknowingly around his dark green greatcoat, oblivious to how close to danger they actually were. Everyone seemed to be here with a partner, enjoying the concert the city put on every year. They never learn, do they? It's just a good job it was too cold for Scarecrow. Jonathan always did get pneumonia when the thermometer plummeted. He was probably wrapped up somewhere with chicken soup. Edward knew Joker was enjoying Christmas at Arkham, so there was no worry about the festivities literally going off with a scream or a bang - maybe that was why the crowd seemed so large today. They all knew that the worst troublemakers were otherwise occupied.

Fat flakes of snow drifted lazily, coating everywhere in a pristine white that would be a dirty grey by tomorrow morning as Edward watched the multitude of couples moving around. This really wasn't something they would have normally indulged in. Perhaps that was why he had elected to come here, he knew he wouldn't run into his slightly less useless lackey and sometime lover here.

His hands dug into his pockets and he felt the anger warm his cold face. They'd had a row - the cause of the row didn't honestly matter, right now - and she'd stormed out of the lair and disappeared. He'd spent the last few hours trying to track her - but Dead Switch was good at evading him. She knew his methods, she knew he hated to lose. The last few hours he had become so steadily furious the thugs had practically begged him to get out of the hideout before he did something inadvisable - like smash his beloved computer in a rage because it hadn't found her for him to wring her misbegotten neck.

They all looked so happy, which soured his mood even further because below the anger and affront at the public displays of affection - he missed her. He'd refute it to his dying breath, but he did. They'd left things unsaid - unfinished - and he couldn't concentrate on anything else. He missed her dark, sarcastic humour and the wit. Well, half a wit.

He stood at the edge like an observer. Watching them all be merry but also resolutely apart from the happy scene. He blinked through the snow gathering on his coat and caught a flash of black leather in the crowd.

Deborah?

No. She wouldn't be here. This wasn't exactly her scene. It was why he'd came here. A dive bar with questionably cheap alcohol was more her forte.

He caught it again, closer to him and making its way closer with every movement. He caught a flash of blonde hair and she emerged from the crowd hands stuffed into her jacket, nose cherry-red. She was woefully underdressed for the weather but it didn't seem to be bothering her whatsoever. They had a brief standoff as he waited to see why she'd willingly come here, now, after she'd spent hours evading him. 'I never figured you for this kind of scene.' She greeted.

'Nor I, you.' He answered warily. 'What are you doing here?'

'Came to apologise, obviously. One of us has to and we both know you're not going to.'

He could apologise! If his facts were wrong. Which they never were, but that was beside the point. How had she known he was here? The thugs had probably told her his location. He'd have their hides for that - later. It was Christmas after all.

'Some of the things I said were heated and uncalled for.' She elaborated, words carefully chosen. 'Things that the I had no right to say. I'm sorry.'

The moment span out between them before he sighed and took off the green scarf he'd been wearing and wrapped it around her neck. 'I missed you.' He murmured quietly which was as close to apologising without being wrong as The Riddler felt he could get. 'Dance?'

'I'm not a good dancer, Edward. You know that.'

'It's not _difficult_.' He replied and held out a hand. She huffed but took it. Underneath the irritation and the scarf, he could see the tiniest smile. They joined the throng of people surrounding them. Swallowed by the crowd.

The next few moments were busy with the new dynamic of movement and somehow, they had ended up deeper in the sea of bodies until they had reached the middle of the courtyard, festooned with garlands of mistletoe which were sure to draw Ivy's attention at some point. Edward was a superb dancer, he knew, and despite Deborah's habit of trying to control the narrative - she always was tightly wound about control - they moved none too shabbily. He dipped her low and asked 'Please, come home?'

She kissed him in answer.

'What was that for?'

'Mistletoe.' She pointed out above them. 'Tis the season.'


	33. Lovelorn

**Lovelorn**

A/N: Jessica Duchamp is mentioned in _Coffee_ as a love interest of Edward's. Former love interest that is. She and the scene set before you is taken from Joker's Asylum II: Riddler which, in my timeline is before _Do Not Disturb_ and _Lock and Key_. Before even _Couples Therapy_. Jesus Christ, Edward. Just … Christ. Things like this are also part of the reason Dead Switch sticks close to him and doesn't take vacations. 95% of this is completely canon, by the way. Let that sink in.

* * *

Dead Switch stood at the doorway and surveyed the damage. Priceless artworks number #9, #24, and #32 were torn and covered in what looked like Lo Mein. The Persian rug she'd nearly gotten skinned for was covered in - tortilla chips. And cheese. There were whiskey bottles everywhere and the room smelled like a goddamn frat-house. In between the bottles, the food, and the general mess were boxes of chocolates, dead flowers, perfume, teddy bears and more.

In the middle of this pigsty was The Riddler. Or sometimes, The Riddler. Right now, Edward looked like an alcoholic playboy coming down off a bender with a little homeless hobo mixed into it. He was wearing a predictably green dressing gown, one slipper and, judging by the mess of his hair, he'd slept in the armchair.

He was watching Love Actually.

She could see why the idiots had called her back from that terrorist seminar in Iran (weird bunch, all around but she had fun teaching them), because Nigma was having a depressive episode and unless you wanted him to slit someone's throat - it was best to avoid calling in Crane for this. The only other person who knew a decent amount about The Prince of Puzzles and had a sympathetic ear - was her. 'Hey, boss!' She said with a lot of mock-cheer. 'Did you have a party while I was gone?'

'Why doesn't she like me?' He mumbled from the armchair. Didn't even turn to look at her, standing in the doorway.

Oh _boy_.

'Uh, who boss?'

' _Jessica_.' He bit. His eyes never left the TV. 'I sent her flowers. Chocolates. I was charming.' His hand reached down the side of the armchair where the most impressive collection of whiskey bottles was until he found one that wasn't quite empty. ' _Why doesn't she like me?_ ' It was a quiet whine as he took a deep swig of the whiskey.

She shook her head. So, this was over a woman. She shouldn't have been surprised, really. Edward's ego was as fragile as a butterfly's wing when it came to certain things. 'Jessica … ?' She frowned.

'Jessica Duchamp. She works at the art museum.' Edward sighed and then blinked, as though the name had brought him back from some far corner of his mind. He turned to look at her for the first time since she'd entered the hideout and demanded haughtily - despite being in an old-man's dressing gown and slippers - 'What the hell are you doing back, Dead Switch?!'

'Got called back, boss.' She shrugged easily. 'Something about someone losing their mind. Worse than usual.'

'Who would that be?'

That piece of prickly sarcasm had gone straight over his head. Oh man, Riddler was not in good shape. 'Oh, just someone I know.' She replied vaguely. It wouldn't satisfy him, so she followed up with 'So, Jessica Duchamp, huh? How'd you meet this one?'

Like a charm, he forgot all about her insult. 'I was stealing a new piece of art after one of the clumsy oafs broke the piece in the living room. It was a Monet.'

Not the water lilies again. She hated being eyeball height with water lilies. It was not conductive. Watercolours weren't _pretty_. They made her want to find the nearest bathroom, weirdly enough.

'She had the audacity to demand to know what I was doing and - it was love at first sight, Deborah.' Dead Switch arched an eyebrow. Love at first sight maybe for him. If she was rejecting him, it was clearly not reciprocated. He was watching _Love Actually_ for fuck's sakes. It was bad. He had it _bad_.

'And then Batman came in and _ruined it!_.' He snarled. 'Now she refuses to accept my proposals. It's …. It's a puzzle even I can't solve.' He admitted ruefully. 'What am I if I can't solve a puzzle?'

Now it was clearer. He thought trying to get her on a date with him was some sort of riddle and he hadn't found the answer yet. 'Maybe you'll come up with a new approach with a spring clean? And maybe a shower?' Her nose wrinkled. Had he even showered in the last three days? 'Clean environment, sharp mind and all that?'

'How can I even think about something mundane as cleaning while she refuses to even acknowledge my gifts?!' Edward demanded. 'If you're trying to distract me, Dead Switch this is a low effort - even for you.'

Ouch. She was only trying to help. Was that called for?

'I tried to think outside conventional realms, already. I even paid off her student loans.' He grumbled. 'It … didn't work. She thought I was implying I could buy her.'

He - he paid off her student loans. Lord give her _strength_. Why the hell did he think that would work?! She resisted the urge to facepalm. It was difficult to resist because _\- god._ Someone should have called her earlier.

'I've tried everything!' He snarled and threw the empty bottle. It smashed on the designer wallpaper and barely missed the Han Dynasty carving on a plinth. Deborah twitched. 'Nothing works!' He yelled as he continued to trash the place.

A normal, sane individual would apply some common sense right now and utter something irrevocably stupid like " _Well maybe she just isn't into you?"_ but Dead Switch was not falling into that trap. In Edward's mind he was perfect. Who _wouldn't_ want to date him? Who wouldn't accept his dinner proposals? It wasn't him and it _certainly_ wasn't the object of his affections because there was _nothing_ wrong with his taste (corkscrew logic) so which, exactly was it? Don't answer - you're probably already dead by the time you work that out.

Dead Switch stood and watched his tantrum with an air of resigned indifference. This is what she's greeted with after a frantic voicemail, 15 hour flight and a half-hour's drive from the airport. This and Love Actually.

It was harder than she'd thought not to pull her gun and shoot A) him, B) herself, or C) the TV but - as always - she was there to pick up his mess. 'Edward-' She tried as he moved on to smashing the plates in the kitchen. 'Boss we need those -' It fell on deaf ears.

She sighed and moved around him to check on the state of the cupboards and the petty cash stash. The cupboards were bare - unsurprising - but the petty cash tin was intact.

She pulled it out as he collapsed onto the floor and curled into a ball. There was only one thing that she knew could help this situation, right now. 'Fusion food, boss? Anywhere in particular?'

'Not hungry.' He replied petulantly and rolled over to avoid looking at her, clutching onto his cane.

And he had the audacity to tell her _she_ was a drama queen. 'Well, after the abysmal airline food, I'd eat anything.' She replied. 'I'll find something you'll like.'

When she got back, laden with food that smelled - to a woman who had been living on middle-eastern cuisine and airline food - divine, Edward Nigma was gone.

'I really need to develop a tracker for that man.' She mused as she realised he hadn't left a single plate - a single _room_ \- intact.


	34. Talk

**Talk.**

'Come on, Dead Switch, give him up.'

It would be a lot more intimidating if she didn't know he wasn't really intending on dropping her five storeys. Really. It would have been to just about any other thug or hired help. They'd be singing by now. Begging him to stop, to put them down - _please don't let them fall_.

To anyone else it would have been terrifying, maybe even traumatic. But they don't know Batman.

To Deborah Scott it's more an annoyance because by the time she utterly fails to give him what he wants, she will have a killer headache and rope burns on her ankles. Again. 'Where is he, Dead Switch?!' Batman snarls.

He doesn't intimidate her and this isn't their first rodeo. 'Would you like it as a riddle?' She cackles.

That doesn't seem to make him happy. He grabs her by the jacket and hauls her close enough that she can see the anger on his face. 'Where. Is. Nigma?!'

'Isn't that the question?'

He pushes her, hard. So she swings and gets a little nauseous but she knows, despite it all, that he isn't going to hurt her. At least - not too badly. Cops don't like it when their suspects are beaten so badly they can't even plead guilty. Rough her up - sure. If she gets violent, which she hasn't. All things considered she's rather passive about this whole thing. Just another tuesday night out of the madhouse. She isn't going to pretend that this little attack upon her person isn't _unwarranted_. Edward's got something cooking for Batman and - because it's Edward - Batman has been warned about it too. Perhaps that's why he's looking for Riddler, trying to stop him before he can enact his plan. Batman has never understood that Edward is well aware he could try that and has contingencies in place. Even if Batman succeeds in getting his location - it's not going to _stop_ Edward's plans. Not by a long shot.

He knows he's getting nothing out of her. He knows the most he can threaten her with is the long road to Arkham. It could get a bit bumpy, but what's life without it's little knocks? He knows she isn't going to fold. It's nothing to do with fearing her boss more than Batman, though Riddler can be much - _much_ \- more creatively cruel than Batman could ever dream of in the right frame of mind (she can make a list of the nastiest stuff if it's helpful), it's because … As sad as it is, she doesn't think Riddler has anyone to truly go to bat - ha! - for him. Joker has Harley, Ivy has her plants, Freeze regularly breaks the law for his wife, Dent had Gilda - what, exactly does Nigma have? Well, he has his mind and he has her, and she isn't much, really. He buys what he needs to - who he needs to - but he needs someone who can't be bought, who won't squeal on him. He needs someone he can trust and for some stupid, stupid reason (she's not exactly sure when it started, either) she's slid into the role and now she _can't get out_. She's Riddler's favourite not-so-useless lackey and Batman's chew-toy when Edward gets on his last nerve.

She's five stories up a deep drop if she's read Batman wrong but she knows she hasn't -

'Riddle me _this_ Dead Switch,' Batman snarls and she knows Edward's done something to really rattle his cage. He hasn't abducted Batsy's birdie again, has he? She would have thought the cross-country trip to Arkham with the broken leg would have taught him that it's a terrible idea. 'I have buttons but I'm not a shirt, I have doors but I'm not a house, I go up and down but I'm not an umbrella, I need at least two stories but I'm not a book of fairytales, I'm found in tall buildings but I'm not a penthouse. What am I?'

She knows this one. She's clever. For a second, though, she doesn't want to say it because of the look in Batman's eye. 'An…. elevator?'

'Bingo. Next stop, _ground floor_.'

Shit. She's read him wrong.

He lets go of the rope and she falls - maybe not ground floor, more like three stories - before it catches and she jerks, harshly. Her side hits a building and the building wins. In what seems like an instant he's there again, in her face. 'Want to go for round two?'

All amusement and semblance of nicety is now gone. Her side hurts and that was a seriously asshole move. 'Get railed, Batdick.' She spits. He doesn't like that. The rope is cut and she falls the last two storeys and hits a parked car. She bounces - but it really fucking hurts.

He's on her again in an instant, before she can even recover. Hauling her up by her leather jacket as she's seeing stars. 'We're taking the scenic route to Arkham.'

Oh _yay_. Remind her again, what was the reward for loyalty?

* * *

A/N: Poor, poor Dead Switch. I do like making her life a misery. She's my personal punch bag. Batsy's too.


	35. In Another Time

**In another time**

Of all the places he'd tracked Nigma to - Bruce was hardly expecting a house in Metropolis. Riddler had been quiet and careful of late to avoid any skirmishes with him, which made Bruce all the more curious and/or suspicious about what he was doing. When he had an opportunity to tag Riddler with a locator - he'd taken it.

Riddler hadn't moved from this house for three days. The house was registered to a Catherine Waite. What was Riddler doing here? What was Ms Waite to Edward Nigma?

Regardless, he couldn't let Riddler continue. He had to go back to Arkham. Tonight. If Bruce left this any longer then there was a chance Nigma would find his locator beacon and disappear before he'd had a chance to find out what he was up to.

Bruce considered calling Clark - a courtesy call that he was in his city - but thought better of it. This was one of _his_ problems, not Clark's. A man like Riddler was dangerous - too dangerous for him to risk getting anyone else involved.

He entered the house through a downstairs window and spent some time searching for traps or triggers. There were none, surprisingly. The room he'd found himself in was clearly a dining room. Papers littered the table - a quick glance told him these weren't calculations or plans for schemes. They were a child's drawings. There were children here? With Riddler?

He moved out into the kitchen and noticed the notes pinned to the fridge. One appeared to be a grocery list.

-More milk

-Pumpkin Spice Decaf

-C4

-Eggs

One of those things was not like the others. Was Waite an accomplice to Nigma's antics? If not, then why was C4 on the fridge?

Something was burning in the oven, he could smell it - but there was little else in the room. No traps, no clues as to what Nigma was doing here. Bruce moved on and found the hallway. The living room was on the left, dark and quiet. Nobody there. He could side-step that room for now because voices were drifting down from the stairs.

No visible traps on the stairs. He moved up silently into a hallway bereft of photographs. That was an oddity. People - normal people - hung framed photographs of their family in their homes. Bruce had yet to see any photographs at all.

The voices were louder now. Coming from a room at the back of the darkened stairway. The door was barely ajar but light was spilling from the crack. 'Elsa was afraid of her power, she feared it might hurt someone like she had hurt her sister all those years ago-'

'But if she believed in herself, anything's possible!'

He could recognise Nigma's voice easily - but the other was younger. The child whose drawings he'd seen downstairs? He closed in on the room to assess the situation - try to separate Nigma from his possible hostage.

The room was pink and decorated like a little girl's dreams. Unicorns and rainbows and plenty of toys. Riddler was perched on the bed beside a child no older than five, reading _Frozen_. He and the child seemed at ease as he read.

What was this?

A muffled noise behind him caused Bruce to turn - he met the iron skillet coming the other way. There was a thud he recognised as his own armoured body hitting the floor - the door had swung wide. Nigma looked irritated to say the least. He looked up at his attacker and recognised a face he hadn't seen in years.

A criminal that was meant to be dead.

She pulled the skillet back and brought it down - hard. The world went black.

He came to tied heavily to a chair in the dining room. For a second, Bruce panicked that he wasn't wearing his cowl, but it was there, he could feel it. It didn't seem like it had been tampered with, either.

Riddler was sitting in a chair opposite him. The Prince of Puzzles still wore the irritated look on his face. Between his fingers was the locator that Bruce had used to find him. Behind Riddler was a ghost of a woman.

Deborah Scott was meant to be dead - betrayed by Riddler. Yet here she was, alive and angry and a crack-shot with an iron skillet. Why go through all the trouble of faking her death? Riddler had planned it so thoroughly that even Bruce hadn't questioned too much.

'Dead Switch.' His voice sounded gruff and pained. His head was throbbing.

'Bats. Long time. Should have been longer.' She replied with a snarl and turned to Nigma. 'You need to fix this.'

'I know.' The Riddler replied. 'I'm thinking.'

Riddler thinking was never good for Bruce. 'Why go through all the trouble of faking your death, Dead Switch? Why the name Catherine Waite?'

'You're the detective.' She replied.

Waite was one of the first professors in ballistics. It seemed cliche that she would choose a name like that. It didn't explain why Nigma had gone through painstaking effort to fake her death or why she'd moved to Metropolis. Why they had a child in the house. Bruce felt like he was missing something, had forgotten how hard an angry woman with malice could hit.

The interrogation was halted when a tiny pajama-clad figure entered the dining room and stared owlishly at the scene before she tugged on Dead Switch's sleeve. ' 'M thirsty, mom.' She yawned.

 _Mom?_

'Okay, sweetie. Let's get you a drink and get you back into bed.' Dead Switch smiled and took her hand. 'Start thinking, Edward.' She shot at Riddler. Nigma nodded at her as she left to go into the kitchen.

'That child, is she yours?' He asked as he worked on the rope and duct tape.

'No, I decided to randomly kidnap a child and play happy families. I'm not Joker, Batman!' Nigma snapped and then calmed. 'We had an unfortunately timed stint in Arkham.' Riddler must have read the incredulity in his stance. 'Surprised?' He crushed the locator in the palm of his hand and let it tip onto the table.

'A little.' He conceded. 'I never figured you for the paternal type, Riddler. Given your own background.'

That seemed to have struck a chord with Edward Nigma. 'She has the best that money can buy and an education that is second to none.' He hissed. 'Two parents who believe in her. I am not repeating the mistakes of my own upbringing!'

With the proceeds of crime and - clearly - the little girl had no idea who her parents were. Batman could respect that, in some cases, people could change - but this was Riddler and Dead Switch. Some things you just can't change. Milk, Pumpkin Spice, _**C4**_ , Eggs. Some things never change.

That explained the presence of the child at the very least. 'So why fake Dead Switch's death? Why the new identity? Why Metropolis?' He demanded.

'You know the kind of enemies we've made.' Nigma replied pragmatically. 'The kind of people I associate with. They tend to seize upon weakness.'

That was certainly true. The kind of people they associated with - or used to associate with - would have used this against him, somehow. Riddler was smart enough to know that he did not want to end up like Freeze had been when Strange stole Nora. Bruce knew that to certain rogues, spouses and children were fair game.

The rope and duct tape finally came apart.

'The question becomes, Batman, are you going to arrest us?' Nigma mused and there was the sticking point - Riddler had broken out of Arkham two months ago. He was wanted for a number of offences. Scott - to Bruce's knowledge - hadn't committed any crimes since she'd disappeared. Certainly her new identity was clean. Bruce had double checked it with every conceivable database he knew.

But he wasn't a monster. He wasn't going to attempt to arrest a child's parents in front of them. That kind of trauma - it was a cycle that could lead to her one day becoming her parents despite Nigma and Scott's attempts to give her a decent upbringing.

The silence was deafening. Riddler wasn't the type to beg - not unless he absolutely needed to - but his stance was clearly tense, as though he expected this to be a fight. It wasn't going to come to that. 'I'm not going to arrest you right now, Riddler.' Bruce growled lowly.

It was almost worth it for the look of shock on Nigma's face. 'You're not?'

'As far as I'm aware you haven't committed any crimes in Metropolis.' He knew Riddler could read between the lines. Nigma could read a blank page. 'Gotham -'

Edward waved that away as though he knew what to expect. The second that he stepped back into Gotham, the game of cat and mouse was back on. But here, now, Bruce wasn't about to pursue him for being a law abiding citizen in Clark's patch. Riddler had no interest in Superman.

'So, how does this g-'

Bruce let a smoke bomb fall from his hand. It quickly enveloped the entire room and by the time it had managed to clear, he was out of the window and well on his way to disappearing.

* * *

A/N: I hate my scumbag brain. Anyone remember that question I asked at the end of _The 2 am drug-store incident_ about nobody wanting to see Riddler become a father? My scumbag brain did! So have some cute/weird AU stuff that isn't really connected to anything. I just really wanted to see Edward reading Frozen and let Debs bash Bats in the head with a frying pan. He kinda deserves it.


	36. All the answers are Strange

**All the answers are Strange**

The director of Arkham wasn't usually one to take on patients - not since Doctor Jonathan Crane's time did the position of director ever fall to an actual, qualified psychiatrist. The last incumbent of the director's chair had been a former political activist with aspirations for bigger and better things than a rabble of insane criminals. Now he was the mayor of Gotham - built on the back of having helped Batman pull the asylum back from the brink - a new director had taken over. This new director had a vision.

 _How do you attempt to understand what is going on when all the answers are Strange?_

The new director was a psychologist who had worked at the asylum - but no matter who you asked, nobody could really tell you a list of patients he had treated or successes under his belt that had persuaded Quincy Sharp to hand over Arkham Asylum to him. Most people didn't care. A select few were suspicious to say the least, but what could they prove? Nothing. Not a single tangible piece of evidence could be found to corroborate foul play.

Inmate #1024 Alias Dead Switch knew that. She also knew that underneath those stupidly tiny spectacles - probably for show - there was a predator lurking in there. She could see it in his eyes.

'Hello, Ms Scott. I am your new caseworker. My name is Hugo Strange.'

Edward had been keeping his eye on this one. What little he had heard - he didn't like. This one was wily, devious - _clever_. She resolved to say nothing and get the measure of him before she made a move. It was the smart thing to do.

She was still in her straitjacket from solitary, she'd noticed. And flanked on either side by guards holding tasers. Clearly, Strange had heard of her _problem_ when it came to injuring her psychologists and had chosen a show of force. Cute, but she knew as well as he did that the guards would not be around forever.

'Are you well?' Strange asked from across the desk.

She stared at him.

'Are you comfortable?'

Of course not. She was still in the straitjacket. She knew he had _something_ to do with her being slammed into solitary for a week. God knows she hadn't done anything _lately_ to warrant a stay in the crazy-box. This was probably a tactic to make her talkative. Staring at four blank walls for hours on end in your own company made you crave interaction - made you more pliable.

Did he think this was her first brush with that technique?

'And how is Mr Nigma? Is _he_ well?' Silence. 'He can be quite charismatic, can't he? A rare intellect. One wonders if all he sees in you is an appreciative audience. Someone to be suitably impressed by his intellect but barely comprehends, like a child fawning over a magician. Is it enough?'

That provoked reaction. 'Do you know what I did to my last psychologist?' She rasped.

'There's the deflection so classic to your psyche, Ms Scott. I was beginning to wonder if you had been rendered mute.' Strange gave a smile. 'I am simply here to talk. After all - I am your newly appointed caseworker.'

'The. Psychologist.'

'It was broadcast on the internet.' Strange deadpanned. 'I have studied it. Doctor Rutherford did not deserve such a fate.'

'How about the one before that?'

'Miss Spinnaker retired - officially.' Strange conceded. 'But unofficially you attacked and disfigured her, she felt no longer able to safely return to work. I understand that she is still requiring plastic surgery to this day.'

'I was feeling picasso.' Deborah replied morbidly.

'Ah, not a classicist I see. You threatened Doctor Rutherford in his interview by comparing Picasso to Pollock. You feel you break the mould, Ms Scott? That underneath a rather frantic and busy facade, there is deeper meaning? You are nothing special, Ms Scott. Not like Edward Nigma. You talk so defensively over Mr Nigma and his secrets. I wonder if you know why you bother?'

He'd read her interview tapes. There was no point in indulging him too much, then. Nor was there any point in playing his game. She'd concluded what this was about - Strange was hoping to get to Riddler through her. He wasn't stupid - his answers had been careful and eloquent and _probing_ for a weakness. She'd seen plenty of psychologists in her years at Arkham. Dead Switch hadn't been an inmate when Crane had gone nuts, but she figured that if Scarecrow was still practicing - it would be an awful lot like this.

'Would you like to hear _my_ theory on your psyche, Ms Scott?' Did she have a choice? 'You have a predilection for destruction. Not just outwardly, but inwardly. You can be your own worst enemy when nothing else presents itself. Self-destruction. I had wondered - at first - what drew you to Mr Nigma. What made you seek him out and be so _possessive_ about him but therein is the answer is it not? Mr Nigma provides you with a sense of stability that you lack. You are a mess of impulse and instant gratification when left to your own devices. When in the presence of Mr Nigma you are focused. Productive. He forces you to think before you move and to someone who is only two steps away from turning on herself - you need that distraction. Do you agree, Ms Scott?'

'Basquiat.' She murmured.

'Ah, deciding on what I shall be? I confess, I'm not a fan of that particular painter. I prefer Dali.' Strange replied smoothly. 'Your use of painters as metaphor is amusing but distracting us from why we are here. I have a question, Ms Scott. Tell me, what do you know of Jervis Tetch?' He mused and speared her with a knowing look.

'Wh-'

'He is one of my patients.' Strange replied innocently. 'He tells me the most interesting things about his many Alices Regrettably, few survive an encounter with him. Does it make you angry, Deborah? The powerlessness of it all? Knowing what he intended to do but being completely unable to stop it? Locked in your body, unable to even scream-'

The monologue hit her like a truck and reminded her painfully of that incident. She played a good game of appearing fine, but Tetch had left scars. Strange was _picking_ at them. How he'd even managed to decipher that she'd been - 'Fuck you.' She whispered, eyes wide but as still as could be.

'Persistence of Memory - Salvador Dali.' Strange replied easily to her curse. 'Yes, I think that is what I shall think of when I think of you.'

Still in the straitjacket, she reared over the desk to get at him but was pulled back into the chair, thrashing against her restraints as the tasers were brought out. He was smirking at her - smirking! 'Ms Scott is not in a good frame of mind. Perhaps she should go back into solitary confinement until she is settled.'

Oh the game was on. He'd won this battle - but not the war. The war was just beginning.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I'm going to be honest here. This was 99% an excuse to practice writing a character I find difficult (Damn you, Hugo) and bash on Switch again. Though, if I'm honest, I'd say Strange has gotten the closest of all the psychologists to understanding her. The Arkham Curse continues to corrupt precious minds, Debs continues to use painters as a metaphor for violence, It comes back to bite her in the ass. Nothing new, move along!

At this point, I'm sick of fighting with Strange about as much as poor Dead Switch is.


	37. Waller

**Waller.**

Of the many, many amounts of people that Edward Nigma had managed to annoy, one of the most dangerous that he enjoyed playing games with _almost_ as much as Batman - was Amanda Waller.

Of course it was Waller. She had an ego and a temper much like his own - she was arrogant and self-inflated and like a bad habit he couldn't resist poking the bear. The problem was, that while Waller was government, she had virtually no rules - she'd tried once to get them to play nice in some kind of Suicide Squad. That had gone about as well as expected.

Ever since, Waller seemed to have a kill order on their backs. She kept out of Gotham - mostly because of Batman - but she had not forgotten the times that Edward had made a fool of her.

Not at all.

'Where is he, Dead Switch?'

Despite the beating Deborah Scott had taken at the hands of the US' finest, she laughed. Pain had never really been her breaking point. Clowns - now clowns were the way to go, not that she'd help Waller. 'Why would I tell you?'

'Because if you don't, I'll kill you.' Waller replied coldly. 'I thought that would have been clear.'

'I'm not a snitch. _If_ I talk - which you've got fuck of a chance of me doing - you'll kill me anyway and you _still_ won't find Riddler.' She mocked and tensed up as a jackboot connected with her stomach.

'I won't keep asking. I'll just ship your corpse somewhere he'll find it.'

She laughed, mostly at the fact that he wouldn't need her corpse to know what Waller had done - Edward kept very detailed tabs on Amanda Waller, despite her fastidious and compulsive need to stay in the shadows. Riddler was _very_ good at dragging those kind of people into the light.

'I know you two are involved.' Waller warned her. 'He's not likely to ignore this, now, is he?'

So, she knew about their affection. More fool her, really for trying to beat Edward's location out of her - or using her to try and get an advantage over him. 'You don't know Edward Nigma, do you?' Deborah asked softly. 'Let me give you some advice. Edward is not _stupid_ enough or _sentimental_ enough and he certainly doesn't _care_ enough to be in this with me.' She breathed. 'And really, all you killing me will do is piss him off.'

As if on cue, the jackboot who had kicked her paused and said 'Ma'am, something's wrong with our radios.'

Waller's head snapped to him. 'What do you mean?'

'Oh!' Said a familiar voice as it crooned from the radio. 'That would be me. Terribly sorry. You don't really get good reception down here. _Hello sweetie._ '

'Riddler!' Waller hissed as Deborah's head came down and she started snort-laughing - mostly at his showman theatrics, but there was relief mixed into there. As much as she hated to admit it - hearing his voice relaxed her. She wasn't quite safe yet, but she would be. Edward did not blindly react to a situation. Now they were in trouble. Waller just didn't know how much.

'It has come to my attention that you have one of my personnel and you're attempting to torture her for information.' Edward sounded smug as he said that. 'You won't get anything out of her.'

'Your personnel?' Waller mocked. 'Is that all she is? Fine. Kill her and we'll move on.'

'Oh, I wouldn't do that, either.' Edward sing-songed.

Waller marched over and snatched the radio from her soldier to hiss into it 'I know you two have a relationship, Riddler. We'll kill your girlfriend if you don't turn yourself in.'

She had to laugh. 'Edward, you know they'll kill me regardless.'

'Yes, thank you, Deborah, I know.' He replied irritably. 'I wasn't about to turn myself in on the off-chance they follow through on that threat.'

'Thanks.' She remarked sarcastically.

'You think you've outmaneuvered me, don't you Amanda?' Edward crooned from the radio. 'You want me to walk into your little _trap_ to save her. If I don't - well, you get to hurt me and my operations. Perhaps then I will make a mistake. Is that your logic? You think you can use my emotions against me?'

'Turn yourself in, Nigma. Don't make this worse. I'll make you listen while we pull off her fingers one by one.' Waller warned him.

'Do it.' He bluffed. Waller turned and nodded at the jackboot who pulled out a pair of field pliers. If they expected her to beg or plead or even move, she surprised them, because she was still smiling. The pliers were getting closer to her fingers when - 'Ah, but she needs those fingers. You can't make bombs with stumps.'

'Nigma, you had better make up your mind.' Waller snarled unhappily.

'All of life is a series of decisions, Amanda.' He scolded her amusedly. 'I simply want time to consider my options.'

'Your options are - listen to your girlfriend be tortured and hand yourself in, or hand yourself in.' Waller snarled into the radio. 'I know you're close, so why don't we just end this now?'

'You know there's always a third option, don't you, Amanda?' Edward asked and she could swear she could see him bent over his keyboard, fingers interlaced and smiling his biggest "gotcha" smirk.

'There's no third option here.' Waller replied.

'Of course there is!' Edward admonished her. 'There's Batman.'

The chain that was holding Deborah upright was cut expertly. A batarang buried itself into the concrete wall behind her as Waller spun around.

Dead Switch landed awkwardly on the floor but recovered enough to high-kick her in the face - hard as Batman put down the jackboot.

Waller stumbled back angrily as the radio crooned on. 'It's so easy to keep you talking, Amanda. Haven't you _learned_ by now to never let me talk?!' If there's one thing you should not do - it was let Riddler talk. Edward's tone was teasing and mocking in one stroke.

Switch hunched over, her ribs and abdomen ached from the hard beating she'd been given. Her arms felt like dead weights after being held aloft for so long. But she wasn't done with Waller. The nice thing about being insane was that she could override the pain when she wanted to. She staggered over to hurl a punch but was intercepted by Batman. 'No.' He growled at her as Waller backed off.

'She tried to kill me!' Deborah snarled.

'Trying to kill her will not make it better.' He warned her. 'I'm getting you out of here, now.'

She turned and snapped 'Not until she's paid for thinking she can hurt me!' When Deborah turned back - Waller was already gone. She let out another curse.

One arm over his shoulders, the other clutched her ribs, Batman walked Dead Switch out of the room and into the corridor. There were several sets of stairs between them and freedom. She let him drag her up the stairs.

'He called you in?' She gasped against the ache.

'Yes.' Batman returned bluntly.

'I'm surprised.' She mused as he half-walked, half-dragged her further up the winding staircase.

'He cares for you, Dead Switch. In a lot of ways.' Batman growled lowly.

It bemused her to hear it from Batman. She knew Edward _cared_ \- if that was the right word - but hadn't reckoned on the extent. It must've taken a lot for him to swallow his pride and ask Batman of all people for help.

They burst out into darkness and heat.

Outside of the bunker, there was a road. A bright green car, idling on the hard shoulder and Edward in a full suit, leant against the car bonnet. On the dusty floor in front of the car's headlights, a soldier lay unconscious. In one of Edward's hands dangled a radio he'd obviously tampered with.

Batman let go of her and she fell against the bonnet of the car. Edward stared at her for a second before he turned and addressed her saviour. 'So, what happens now, Batman?'

'Now, you two go back to Gotham and you _stay there._ ' Batman growled. 'I'll deal with Waller and her team.'

'She kidnapped Deborah and was going to kill her.' Edward pointed out angrily.

'Eventually.' Batman agreed. 'But you called me in, Riddler. I don't kill.'

Edward didn't seem to agree, but another glance at his favourite not so useless lackey breathing slowly through the pain seemed to make up his mind. 'There's always another time.' He growled. 'Thank you for your help, Batman.'

The dark knight nodded and walked away. By now, Waller had probably cleaned house and gone, but he compulsively still needed to check.

Painfully, Switch slid into the passenger seat of the car and breathed as Edward started the engine. It was clear he was angry - probably not at her. Perhaps at Batman for not killing that woman when he had the chance, or Waller for targeting her in the first place. Waller must've known she wouldn't have given him up. This whole charade was probably just to hurt him - to remind him that she was still after him.

After a few minutes of silence she whispered 'You called in Batman.'

'I saw no other way.' He replied. She glanced at him. He looked tired, drained. 'How bad is it?' He asked and glanced at her with his tired blue eyes.

'I'll live.' She shifted uncomfortably, had almost forgotten the throbbing ache that was her torso. 'You came to get me.'

'Of course I did!' He snarled and then said lowly 'You told her nothing?'

'Of course.' She replied.

They drove in silence, perhaps each aware of the sacrifices the other had made. Perhaps aware of the unspoken feelings of relief and pain they shared. Waller had very nearly succeeded. That this relationship they had being in the open was far more dangerous than they had anticipated. Riddler and Dead Switch only relaxed when they crossed fully into Gotham. They were home and safe - but definitely not none the worse for the ordeal. There were questions that needed to be asked and answered in light of this. Hard ones.

* * *

A/N: Spot the _Doctor Who_ reference! It's like, my favourite scene. Shut up, I'm a sap.

Everybody seems to be looking for Edward. Can't imagine that's good. Alright, down to it - I wasn't going to release this so _soon_ since I still find plenty of things wrong with it - buuuut it's all I have genuinely finished since I'm ill with Flu (might be Aussie Flu). I hate Amanda Waller with all the flaming passion I reserve for Umbridge of Harry Potter. She's more evil than Darkseid. Yes, Edward went to someone he _swore_ he would never ask for help because Amanda knows every one of his tricks. She was expecting them. She wasn't expecting Batman. Anyway, G'day mates!


	38. Catchy

**Catchy.**

'That was, quite possibly, the stupidest thing I have watched this year.' Edward sighed from his lounged position on the couch as the credits for Repo! The Genetic Opera rolled. 'But it was an opera. I'm not _shocked_. Do people in operas actually talk to one-another?'

'That would defeat the point of opera.' Deborah replied with a smirk. 'At least the songs were good.'

'The songs were, perhaps, the worst thing about it.' Edward grumbled and stretched. 'You are never picking the movie again.' He pointed out.

'What was wrong with it?' She asked casually as she began to clean up the chocolate wrappers and loose popcorn that usually accompanied movie night. For being such a stick, Edward could pig-out like she'd never seen. Even Deborah had called it quits at the fifth chocolate bar.

'A cyber-punk opera set in a dystopian future where everyone has designer organs? It sounds like bad fanfiction.' Edward drawled with a pointed look. 'It sounds _ridiculous_.'

'So does Star Wars. That is an opera in space, isn't it?' She challenged.

'Star Wars was a masterpiece compared to that.' Edward snorted vehemently and stood. Another stretch to work out the sleep from his bones.

'Meesa think yousa is wrong.' She mocked and received a glare in reply.

'Regardless, I have work to be doing.' Edward yawned and moved towards his precious computers. He left her to tidy the mess he'd created.

* * *

He was working on a series of code when he began whistling. At first he couldn't remember why the tune was so familiar - but when he became aware of it, he realised that it was from the opera. Legal Assassin, if he remembered correctly and immediately cut himself off. He glanced around quickly to make sure Deborah had not heard him. She would never stop mocking him if she discovered he'd been whistling the songs.

Evidently, his astoundingly _brilliant_ brain was determined to be astoundingly annoying to him, for once. He would cut that right out and focus wholeheartedly on the code.

He was just getting into the rhythm of it again when he began to hum to Infected and stopped dead. ' _Deborah!_ ' He yelled angrily and was slightly furious at the cackling he could hear in the distance of the hideout.

* * *

A/N: Still sick. When I'm sick I watch a multitude of sickie films like _Repo! The Genetic Opera_ because why not torture your mind with the idea it's not the flu - _you're dying_ (Edward wishes I was) and thus, this was born. Mostly I'm keeping it for the fact that Dead Switch seems to be making a game out of how much she can mock him before he threatens a painful death. At least it wasn't Avenue Q. He'd have had a conniption fit at The Internet Is For Porn. And of course, the obligatory Jar Jar Binks mockery is _necessary_.


	39. Birthday Girl

**Birthday Girl**

Batman dropped silently into the former bunker and glanced around, quickly scanning for threats but there were none to be found. He knew that Riddler's base of operations was here - he'd managed to decipher all the clues. This was the only logical place the answer could have been referencing - but it looked empty. Riddler wasn't one to lie - if he had successfully deciphered his code, then Riddler would be here.

Still, it was eerily quiet as he stalked down the corridor and began a systematic search. Almost too quiet - really. This whole area should have been swarming with thugs and paid workers - but it was deserted. Doors locked, no visible debris within sight - Nigma was _expecting_ him. That could not be a good sign. It meant that he had prepared carefully for this. Batman much preferred to catch Riddler off guard, he was far less trouble that way. He paused when the suit picked up on a conversation happening further in the bunker. Faint as it was through the reinforced walls - It identified the voices as Edward Nigma and Deborah Scott.

'Did you _order_ a pinata?'

'I thought you did?'

...

'Oh god it's from Joker.'

There was the distinct sound of smashing glass, a clang and silence for a few seconds before Dead Switch spoke up. 'What are the odds that there's something nasty in there?'

'80%' Riddler answered. 'It's _Joker_.'

' _Why_ is he sending me a birthday gift?'

'He's insane. Nobody can predict that mad-man. I've tried.' Nigma sounded annoyed. 'If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he never forgets someone who helped him, which you inadvertently did.'

'I helped Quinn and I regret even that!'

'It's all the same to Joker.'

There was nowhere else to go - Batman would have to meet whatever the megalomaniac had cooked up head on.

The room was mostly lit up in shades of black and green. As was Nigma's M.O. his precious computers and method of controlling the entire setup seemed impossibly high to reach from the ground and was no doubt guarded by more traps.

On the floor in front of him seemed to be the offending pinata. It had _broken_ one of the - more than likely - electrified floor tiles after it had crashed through one of the tinted windows of the computer room above them. The two _definitely_ returning inmates of Arkham Asylum - if Batman had anything to say about it - were staring at him from out of the broken window before they ducked out of view.

'I see you've managed to work out my final puzzle, Batman.' Nigma sighed from the speakers around the room. 'Is it too much to ask for you to fail, just once? No matter. The game is not over yet.'

Around now, Nigma would send in the thugs/robots/Dead Switch to keep him occupied enough to finish preparations for his latest toy - and put off the inevitable beating. Sure enough, the elevator was humming as it descended. While being surprisingly innovative, Edward Nigma was very much set into routine. He pulled a batarang and waited for the elevator to open warily.

What Batman was not expecting when the doors opened - was The Riddler himself. No sign of any tricks or weapons of any kind, just his distinctive cane. What was this?

'I'm sure you must be confused, Batman.' He straightened his cuffs fastidiously. 'Please note that this was not my idea.'

'Riddler, what is going on?' He demanded.

Nigma opened his mouth, possibly to explain something to him as though he were a child when the speakers burst back into action. A projector also came to life and shone on a far wall. It was Dead Switch - wearing Riddler's distinctive bowler. 'I am the smartest person alive! I'm The Riddler, your doom! And I have an ego the size of the Eiffel tower. That's 324 meters!'

Edward snarled up the shaft 'You googled that!'

'I've seen your google history, Edward.' She replied with a hint of smugness. 'Yours isn't much better.'

'I have an eidetic memory!' He argued.

'Do I need to leave the two of you alone for a moment?' Batman asked. The batarang lowered for a second.

'No!' They both snapped. 'You see, Dork Knight, it's my birthday.' Dead Switch's amusement was evident. 'Today is all about presents. Riddler's present to me is letting me run the show. You'll be facing off against him if you want to stop me.'

'I won't be as easy to defeat as my _intellectually inferior_ lackey, Batman.' Edward warned him, putting loud emphasis on _intellectually inferior_. 'And this is the last time I let her choose her own gift.' He muttered in disgust.

Well. This was novel, he would give them that. Riddler lashed out and he dodged, but wasn't expecting the heeled boot that connected with his knee. Even with the armour it had hurt. Nigma expertly swung the cane down onto his bent form, but Batman had been waiting for him to dance too close. He came up and under Nigma's guard to deliver a painful uppercut.

Riddler backed off, clutching his mouth and nose. 'When this is over-' Edward threatened nasally.

'You'll be in Arkham, Riddler.' Batman predicted. 'You never fight your own battles. You're out of practice.'

Nigma spat blood with a snarl and went at him again.

'Computer, release bots one through ten.' Dead Switch commanded from above the two warring fighters.

'Command accepted. Releasing the bots, bumbling blonde bandog.' chirped a rather happy female voice.

She raised an eyebrow. 'I never asked you why you changed that.'

'I was bored. And irate.' Edward spat as he backed off from Batman. the robots ascended from below the floor as the tiles drew back. 'Lets see how you deal with me and my army of robots, Batman!'

'I'd be careful, Edward.' Switch warned him from the speakers. 'You didn't program them to avoid injuring friendlies.'

He paused and asked ominously. 'I didn't?'

'Not even you.' She replied.

'Well that would be because I never expected to be in this situation!' Edward spat vehemently. 'But that little oversight _will_ be fixed during the next upgrade. Today Batman and Gotham - tomorrow the world!'

'Lex is shaking in his boots.' Dead Switch snickered as the tannoy cut out. That seemed to be a dig at Nigma, since he mumbled something darkly about clowns and comedians.

' _I heard that!'_

The bots had indeed been upgraded but they were still no match for him. Batman tore through them without much effort, to Riddler's supreme anger.

'Do you know how much those cost to produce?! The least you can do is just die already!' He snarled as he joined in the fray once again when Batman had trashed his precious automatons.

'Warning: Danger to life detected.' The computer chirped, which caused another pause.

'What are you doing up there?!' Edward demanded vehemently.

'I'm doing nothing! I - oh.'

Even to Batman's well trained ears, that didn't bode well. There was a tinny little whinny from behind the fighters and both turned to stare at the pinata in something approaching horror. One of the robots had landed on it and seemingly started something. A cannon erupted out of the colourful paper-mache mouth and took aim.

'Oh. Shit.' Nigma murmured as the cannon locked onto him and fired.

Something white and pink splattered across his suit, a candle nearly took out an eye and clattered to the floor as the pinata turned on Batman.

Cake. He'd been hit by … birthday cake.

Joker's doing, undoubtedly. If Riddler was very, _very_ lucky - Joker wouldn't have poisoned it. He would have been happy merely with the chaos of flying projectile cake being shot from a pinata.

His attention was snapped back to the pinata which was now attempting to target him and dodged behind Riddler who took another ballistic cake to the face.

That had to hurt. Batman pulled out a batarang and tried to disarm the weapon, but it gouged a part of the horse's mouth and left long, deep gashes in metal. Damn it, Joker.

Nigma was scraping frosting out of his eyes and cursing up a storm, composure completely lost.

The pinata seemed to have stopped. Something was whirring deep inside it and Batman knew that if it had stopped firing, something else was going on. Knowing Joker - something more deadly than just cake. 'We need to shut it down, Riddler!'

'As if I need to take advice from -' He snarled but stopped as the cake cannon was replaced by something a lot more powerful and explosive. A missile. The pinata hummed mechanically to itself 'Target acquired.'

Target? What?

Joker's voice burst out of the colourful horse. 'Switchy! Happy birthday! Have a _great_ party - my invite must've been lost in the mail. So sorry I can't be there to put a _smile_ on your face - other commitments - but you can't have a birthday party without cake! And where there's cake…. There's candles. Make a wish!'

 _What_.

'Dead Switch, get out of there!' Batman roared putting two and two together. He wasn't about to demand Nigma tell him what they'd done to make themselves a target of Joker - but he knew what Joker intended the instant he'd said _candles_.

He didn't wait for Dead Switch's answer, he grabbed his grapple and pointed it at the broken window. Nigma had frozen, still in the act of trying to scrape frosting out of his eyes. Useless.

He propelled himself up towards the control room and ran straight at Dead Switch - the missile hot on his heels. This was going to be close.

One hand on the scruff of her shirt, the other was on the grapple as he propelled the both of them through the window. There was a brief second as they passed the missile that was lazily zeroing in on the heat of the panels and they were out into the open air.

He really wished she would stop screaming in his ear.

* * *

'Worst. Birthday. Ever.'

The asylum transport truck. Again. The entire thing smelled like burnt sugar and hair. Nigma was going to need more than one shower, and possibly overnight observation in medical. Scott was covered in bruises, scratches, half her hair was singed, her boots had been ruined by the explosion that Batman had to save her from. Their plan had been ruined because Joker hadn't been invited to something. He wasn't going to pretend to know what the hell was going on, right now.

He watched them being put in the back of the van and then turned to look at the still smoking wreckage of the building they'd set up in. He'd never truly understand Joker's reasonings for the things he did - even Nigma himself had admitted that he couldn't predict the man. He watched the GCPD taking possession of the ballistic pinata.

Batman paused when one of the technicians asked 'What the hell are you covered in, Nigma?'

'Cake.' Riddler spat.

The technician swiped a piece off and mused 'Izzit someone's birthday?' Before he licked it dubiously.

Everyone froze in horror.

He looked up and around at the various faces in a rictus of terrified anticipation. 'What? It's strawberry. Pretty good too. Why strawberry?'

'Strawberry's my favourite.' Dead Switch answered miserably from beside the van.

'Get him to a hospital, now.' Batman snarled.

Riddler seemed unable to comprehend the stupidity of his transport techie. 'He - he actually ingested it. You don't feel ill, do you? Feel like vomiting? Giggling? Facial twinges?'

'It's cake.' The tech replied as his friends raced to grab hold of him and call in a bus. 'Wh- what's wrong with it?'

'I'm sure you'll find out.' Nigma replied. 'What's your name? I'll put you in for the Darwin Awards.'

He had to really resist punching Nigma in his smug face again. He wasn't his problem anymore but Batman had to at least hope, if not for Nigma's sake, than the technician, that Joker had not poisoned any part of those cakes.

'Happy birthday, Dead Switch.'

She gave him a glare of utmost hate for that. It was almost worth it.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know. Can't you give them just one win, Staken? Apparently not! Because it's Debs' birthday and all she wants is to guilt Edward into letting her be the big cheese for the day - and relentlessly mock him in good fun along the way - but alas, when it's those two, they never get far. Also surviving something Joker sent you when he's pissed is _highly_ commendable. Almost a birthday miracle. Shut up, it is.

Dead Switch's birthday is, in actuality, September 19th.

Joker was _really_ upset he didn't get a birthday invitation - or a slice of that magical birthday cake. When Joker's not happy, he tends to spread it around.


	40. Hungover

**Hungover**

Help.

Send Batman. Send _someone_.

Jonathan Crane - the goddamn Scarecrow - was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking Edward's special Death Wish coffee (200% caffeine content, why, Edward?) and looking like he had a death wish of his own. He was glaring at her in her sleep shorts and tank top as she _tried_ to eat her cereal with the minimum amount of aggravation. He could have Misophonia.

She was avoiding his bloodshot eye as much as humanly possible and tried not to listen to Riddler's hungover - possibly still drunk - worship of the porcelain gods from down the hall.

She wished the boss had never won that stupid bet with Scarecrow. Or that he hadn't dragged the perennially antisocial professor drinking. Or - now that she thought about it - they hadn't drunkenly stumbled back to Riddler HQ at dawn. Scarecrow was now clutching onto his coffee mug for dear life with a pack of painkillers in arms reach.

'It was you, wasn't it?' Jonathan Crane snarled.

The crunching paused and Dead Switch looked like a deer caught in headlights. 'Whu?'

'You introduced him to tequila slammers!'

Guilty as charged. She knew she was - but admitting to it was suicide. Especially with a hungover Scarecrow across the table. She opened her mouth to strenuously deny _any_ involvement in what Edward may have shoved down Crane's neck when he barked 'I will gas you into oblivion if you talk with your mouth full, child!' He winced and groaned, a hand pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked … irritated.

She swallowed.

It was too early to scream and she had no desire to throw up Lucky Charms on her PJs so anything that even _sounded_ sarcastic or condescending - "Well, you shouldn't have lost the bet" to "Lightweight" - wouldn't go over very well and she'd more than likely end up getting gassed. She needed to find something to say to appease him but also imply that in no way whatsoever was she responsible for his current state of being. 'I don't know what got into him, Doctor Crane.' She demurred from her corner of her kitchen.

'Whatever it is, I swear by a fabricated deity that when I am returned to normal, I will kill him and you.' Jonathan Crane sipped his coffee and continued to glare at the only object he could express his misery onto. To whit: her.

Deborah paused and then hastily began to shovel Lucky Charms into her mouth as he watched her like a lab-rat.

Send help.

Gordon, the birdies, anyone. Hell, she'd even take an interruption by the clowns at this point. She was desperate.

Edward emerged from the bathroom and staggered into the kitchen and straight for the coffee pot before he noticed Jonathan and Debs were watching him. 'Good morning, Edward.' Jonathan slurped his coffee.

'Ngh, not so loud.' The Riddler winced and poured coffee into his favourite mug. 'I have a slightly delicate condition this morning.'

She tried to hastily take her cereal and shuffle out of the room slow enough to avoid detection, find somewhere to hide - like Hawai'i for the next week.

'Really?' Jonathan Crane's head turned to follow her and he growled 'You. Stay. There.' Her legs stopped working. Cowardly legs. Please, Fabricated Deity - please don't let her last meal be Lucky Charms. 'So, Edward, whose idea was tequila slammers?'

Damn. Her last meal was going to be soggy marshmallows. She could see it. Crane was going to lose his shit and they were both going to die screaming. At least her last shrieks of life would aggravate his hangover. Classic Dead Switch and Riddler. Annoying to the very end.

'You don't remember, Jon?' Edward chuckled. He was swaying. Oh God he was still drunk from last night!

'I don't remember much of anything from last night!' Crane snarled and gulped coffee. 'If I embarrassed myself-'

'I didn't know you could recite the entirety of Poe's The Raven by memory. It was a stirring performance.' Edward laughed as he turned, coffee mug in hand. He was loving this. He was provoking it. How drunk _was_ he still? She felt like she should intercede to stop his apparent suicide but she was too cowardly.

Crane groaned and dropped his head. 'I'm never drinking with you again, Edward.'

She's not screaming yet. It's been a whole two minutes. She's not screaming. Is - is he gonna gas her for the transgression of introducing Riddler to tequila or not? One cowardly foot shifted and Crane's head snapped to hers with a death glare.

Oh god. Someone wasn't getting out of this alive. Crane was _pissed_. And hungover.

Damn tequila slammers.

* * *

A/N: I swear I'm working on a cutesy chapter but my brain's all: Hostage situation. Insane hostage situation. It'd be hilarious. Well, not for Dead Switch, obviously, but for someone. The readers! The readers will find this hilarious. _Scumbag brain._

Do not irritate a hungover master of fear. And I have no idea how Edward ever managed to get him to actually go out drinking - let alone imbibe the _evil_ tequila slammers. But it won't be happening again.


	41. Cogs in a game of wits

**Cogs in a game of wits**.

The large heavy shutters of Arkham City's lone - almost abandoned to the wilds - medical centre were still in place since Quinn - and later, Batman's - departure. They would probably not open for anything. Well, almost anything.

'Please - please! Don't do this!'

Adam Hamasaki was, quite possibly, the most _unlucky_ of the unfortunates in the medical centre. He'd made the rather stupid decision to respond to a rather panicked call about an injured party that could not get to the medical centre and had left the safety of the church before Quinn and her thugs had arrived.

What he had found was an ambush by Riddler. A little insurance never hurt and insurance had been a wise move, considering what had happened. Now Adam Hamasaki was being dragged slowly back to the locked church. Edward had at least thirteen scenarios for acquiring his subjects - this one had an 86.7% chance of succeeding with minimal casualties. He needed and wanted minimal casualties.

'Please - You don't have to do this!'

'I most assuredly do.' Edward replied rather boredly. 'Since your useless colleagues refuse to open the door.' He turned as Dead Switch presented him with a knife. Edward took it with care. 'Arm or leg?' He mused.

'Leg.' She replied with a critical eye running over their very terrified hostage. 'Less likely to try to do something stupid. Like run away.'

'You're right, of course.' He conceded. The knife stabbed straight into the medic's thigh hard enough to have possibly chipped bone.

Adam screamed in pain as blood began to flow down his toughened work trousers. The point of impact was calculated exactly to make the minimal amount of damage for the maximum of pain and he left the knife embedded in his leg.

'Call out to your colleagues and tell them to open the door Mr Hamasaki.'

'No! You won't get me to-' He cut himself off with another pained scream as Riddler twisted the knife very gently.

'I have things to do, Mr Hamasaki. However, if you'd like to continue with our little demonstration -' Riddler murmured into his ear and twisted the knife again.

Adam screamed, louder and more pained than he had previously. ' _Eddie!_ ' He managed. 'Burlow open the door - _please!_ '

A face appeared by a stained glass window. Slicked back hair, a shorter man than Hamasaki or Nigma. He looked pained. He murmured something - but both Riddler and Dead Switch were good at lip-reading. 'Adam? He's got Adam, Aaron!'

Hamasaki's leg was now streaming with blood. The bottom cuff was becoming damp. He was sobbing in Nigma's hold.

'They don't seem convinced.' Deborah noted apathetically. 'Maybe we should have gone for the arm.'

'You think?' Riddler pulled the knife out with a horrible sucking sound that made Adam whimper before he stabbed it into his shoulder. Adam screamed and cried again. ' _Please Burlow_! Open the fucking doors, man!'

'I'm not an expert, but I don't think we can play this game all night. Keep him barely this side of breathing for a few hours maybe, but the more holes we put in him the faster he bleeds to death.'

'Then his colleagues will watch him die knowing they could have helped him!' Edward replied loudly.

More than likely they would now be arguing over whether or not to save their colleague, but Edward knew medics. They would open the door in the end.

Deborah cocked her rifle and checked the clip accordingly as their thugs milled around them carrying necessities. The thugs were a mix of people from other gangs being paid under the table to help them out. A lot of them were Two-Face gangbangers, but there were more than a few of Joker and Penguin's more bright followers. Keeping the two factions from starting warfare in the bunker was her job - and oh, she _hated_ it. Shot more than a few of them and if she were being generous - it wouldn't be in the head. Edward didn't care as long as they didn't smash the delicate equipment because _God help them_ if they did.

Any second now.

He was just about to pull the knife back out and hit the abdomen when there was a grinding noise and the shutters began to raise. He smiled triumphantly as the door opened ever so slightly and Deborah kicked it in, hard.

Edward passed Mr Hamasaki to another thug, still with the knife embedded in his shoulder, and stepped into the church as people moved at cross-purposes, securing the building. In a testament to how clever his borrowed thugs were - they were quick and efficient about rounding up anyone Edward wanted - the doctors, nurses, security personnel - and got rid of the troublemakers in the beds.

'What the - Riddler!'

Ah, he remembered that voice. 'Officer Cash. Hello again. How's the hook?'

Cash glowered at him from the front of the rabble that had become completely circled by thugs. 'Hurting a doctor's a bit low for you, isn't it, Nigma?'

Edward felt the rage lash out - but restrained it. He'd hoped that Cash would still be alive for this. Humiliation followed by death was a sweet, sweet revenge for those years he taunted him in Arkham. Cash had _no idea_ what it took to have even gotten this far, nor what he had in store for them. He said the day would come when Cash would be in his sights and he meant it. 'Please. If they were _smart_ they wouldn't be here at all!'

'They're here to help people, Nigma!'

'More fool them.' Edward returned seriously. 'Because now they - and you - are cogs in my game of wits with Batman. Escort them,' He turned to the thugs who were fondling their guns as though they were begging the few guards on duty to actually try something.

'Nigma, don't do th-'

Cash made the mistake of trying to grab him. The second the man's hand touched Riddler's arm, Dead Switch took out his knee with her boot and slammed the butt of her assault rifle into his face. Cash keeled over with a wheeze as Edward adjusted his sleeves with disdain. 'I dislike unwanted touching, Cash. You should know that by now.'

'You're insane, Nigma.'

'I'm a genius, Cash. There's a fine line between them, but do keep up.' Edward responded easily and turned to the deranged woman now taking stock of what she had to work with. 'Well?' He asked critically.

'I can do it. It's a shame Joker blew up the belfry, I was looking forward to that.' Dead Switch mused and used her thumb for measurement. 'But we can work with it.'

'You know the placement.' Edward agreed. There were gunshots and screaming outside the building. Edward paused with a groan. If even a single hostage was harmed, he'd have that thug's head. 'Set up here and then check on the Riddle Rooms, would you?'

'Of course.' She agreed, almost wholly absorbed in the new project. He left her a few thugs to help set up the projector and began the task of separating the hostages. Hamasaki, Burlow, North and a few others would be his little clues for the Dark Knight, but Cash was most definitely coming with him. Edward wanted his revenge.

The Riddler twirled his cane and looked up, just as the thugs released the canvas from the belfry stairs. A large green question mark unravelled over the church.

It was perfect.

This time. This time, Batman wasn't going to walk away the victor.

* * *

A/N: It's that time again! It's time for Arkham City Edward and Dead Switch. They think they're hot shit. It's adorable when they're cocky. I'm replaying Arkham City and I've gotten to the point where I both love and _loathe_ Edward for making me collect all these damn trophies. He deserves his eventual fate of getting dragged through the floor and having his nose broken. Bad Eddums! Cash will have his comeuppance!


	42. Boom

**Boom.**

Gotham city was rarely ever quiet. Even in the dead of night it was rarely ever _still_. At 8:30 in the morning it was more akin to chaos as people ran at cross-purposes in the central rail station. Trains from Metropolis, Coast City, Star City - places further afield than even _that_ \- all pulled in and added their human burdens to the platform but for a blessed second - it was as though everything had stilled.

 _Boom_.

It shook buildings, it set off car alarms. Lights and machines flickered as for a single second the grid was disturbed.

It created a seismic shock that could be felt even in the GCPD. Perhaps that was why so many police were on scene within minutes. Ambulances and fire crews followed but the central rail station was nothing more than a smoking pile of rubble now.

Dead Switch sipped her coffee and watched the frantic efforts to try and reach those that may yet still be alive and trapped - in the trains and sheltered walls of the terminal no doubt. There may be as many as two dozen people still living in the mess of concrete, earth and steel.

Her eye fell on the tablet in her hand as she put the coffee down and ran across the data packet that the bomb had sent just before activation. It wasn't a perfect thing - but really, she just wanted to see if it were possible. The initial idea wasn't one you dreamed about - it wasn't out of some cold and logical necessity, either. One day, she had woken up and wondered if you could calibrate a bomb to detonate by temperature differences.

Pressure differences - yes. A more sophisticated form of airline terrorism, that theory was sound. But temperature? Could you make a bomb so sensitive it would correlate the rise in atmospheric temperature to bodies in an area and calculate it against the maximum number of casualties for detonation?

It wasn't an idea so evil you'd wake in the night sweating and hugging yourself - it was just there. A pervasive thought in the back of her mind that had driven her to test the theory again and again over a period of months until this - it's final test.

One objective had been achieved. The temperature had indeed reached the optimal detonation point for the bomb according to her data, but she would have to wait for the final count in a double-blind test.

She chuckled to herself as the reporters spoke solemnly into the cameras, every face a rictus of incomprehension and tragedy. Idly, she wondered how long it would take Batman to link today's " _act of terrorism_ " to her.

' _Deborah!_ '

Then there was that.

'Edward!' She smirked and picked up her coffee to swing around and look at him. He was half dressed and staring between his phone and her incredulously.

'What did you do?!'

She painted on an expression of innocent surprise. 'Why do you always think that bombings are something to do with me, Edward?'

'Because I know you.' He hissed. 'I don't need Batman breathing down my neck because you decided to _mar the scenery!_ '

She waited a decent pause to lean forward. 'Do you ever get one of those ideas?' She mused. 'You know, the ones that are so beguiling you just … you can't seem to let go of them?'

'Yes.' He conceded, relaxed a fraction but still frowned in her direction. 'What did you do?'

'I created a bomb that would calculate the exponential rise of atmospheric heat with the amount of human bodies in a given space and then set it to detonate at a certain limit.' She answered promptly. 'I was bored.'

The Riddler looked, if only for a second, dumbfounded. 'Is that what you _wasted_ your Christmas present on?!'

'The last of it.' She agreed.

'What did the central station do to you?'

'It's brutalist. Thought that they could use the chance to make a better one.' Dead Switch replied evenly and sipped her coffee.

* * *

A/N: One of the many reasons that Edward gives Deborah too many things to do is because of things like this. She gets _bored_ and attempts to push the boundary of what is and is not possible with home-made devices. She loves cooking up new bombs. She has no regrets or sympathy. Pretty sure she has no soul. Neither does Edward since his only complaint is that she wasted the last of her Christmas present on that.


	43. Comfort

**Comfort**

'What, exactly, are your qualifications, again?' Edward hissed and took another swig of the whisky in his hand. His left arm from the shoulder down was numb and on fire at the same time. Despite the biting uncomfortableness in the - more than likely - dislocated shoulder, the rest of him was beginning to feel warm and fuzzy.

'A ten minute Youtube video and sheer confidence.' Deborah replied without a hint of sarcasm but with more of an edge behind it. She sounded anxious.

'Confidence, hm?' Edward bit and took another fortifying swig of whisky.

'You want me to call that nurse we know - what was her name? Richardson?'

'For a dislocated shoulder?!' Edward spat back. 'Just - fix it.' He supposed he was lucky it wasn't his dominant hand. He was _lucky_ he had little more than some scratches, some bruises and the shoulder.

Deborah took a deep breath and felt around his shoulder for the ball joint. It prickled painfully and Edward took another defensive swig of whisky. 'How much of that have you drank?' She asked.

Enough for a buzz. 'About a quarter?' He guessed. 'Why?'

'Just making sure you were relaxed for this.' She responded and gripped his elbow, forcing his arm up as she pressed on his shoulder-blade. There was a horrific grinding of bone on bone before his entire arm jumped and the tingling feeling faded slightly - or maybe that was being overridden because he was in absolute _agony_. Edward swore heavily and all but fell forward onto the table as another wave of pain and nausea hit him. Deborah didn't stop even as it looked like he was going to pass out. She made a sling with some fabric and expertly trussed his arm to his chest.

When Edward managed to sit up, despite not being any help, his arm had been popped back into joint.

'More whisky, next time.' He rasped and took a deep swig of the bottle. 'That hurt.'

'Hurts regardless, boss.' She replied softly as the smaller first aid kit came out. Of course, she would know. Batman had broken or dislocated an arm on more than one occasion. Swabs, disinfectant, steri-strips and gauze were laid neatly across the table as she inspected his face. 'You going to tell me what happened?'

'No.' He replied and drank some more. His arm was still radiating pain but the whisky was helping, now. At least, making him feel better. Or maybe it was Deborah, fussing over him. It had been a long time since he'd been fussed over. It was nice.

Maybe he'd had too much whisky. That didn't mean he was wrong - just that his judgement was slightly impaired.

She appeared in his vision again, a pen-light shone into his eyes. Checking for concussion. When it disappeared he took another swig. The sting of the disinfectant on a particularly sore cut to his chin was nothing compared to the throbbing that was coming from his arm. She was concentrating fully on the task at hand, forehead creased slightly and eyes narrowed as she cleaned.

'How's your arm feeling?' She murmured as she cleaned dirt out of the cut. The disinfectant came away pink, but he didn't think he'd cut to the bone, thank God. She almost sounded concerned for him.

'Getting better. Going numb, but the good kind of numb.'

Her fingertips felt feverishly warm and rough on his face as she held the cut closed to apply the steri-strips, but they held him gently. As though he were made of glass.

This close, she smelled of metal, smoke, and oil. It wasn't a _terrible_ smell, but it was unique to her. 'Is it deep enough to scar? Give me a roguish feature to play on?' He teased and she laughed as she smoothed the strips down. It stung and reactively, he took another swig of the bottle.

'You can make up outlandish stories quite soon, I think.' She replied with a wry smile. 'Even though I still haven't heard how it happened.'

Edward sighed. 'I fell off a fire escape.'

She snorted and hastily covered it up. 'What were you doing on the fire escape?'

'Trophy.' He answered. The bottle was looking decidedly less full now his arm was back in place.

'Oh, boss.' She moved up to clean a cut to his nose. He hissed as the disinfectant touched the livid cut. 'Can you ever stay out of trouble?'

'I don't intend this sort of thing, you know.' He warned her as she worked. The last two words were very slightly slurred. Hardly a surprise for a man who had swigged half a bottle of whisky in lieu of painkillers while on an empty stomach.

'I know.'

'It just happens.' He took another swig of whisky. Half-empty, the bottle sloshed.

'I'm sure it does.' She replied condescendingly and leaned in to look at the cut, plotting where to put the steri-strips.

He leaned up and kissed her.

He probably tasted like whisky, she definitely tasted like cigarettes. When they broke apart he murmured 'What did I ever do to deserve such unquestioning loyalty?'

'Right now, you fell off a fire escape.' She chuckled as she threw another wad of dirty gauze onto the table and pinched his nose.

'No, I mean it. You're always there to catch me, Deborah. I must've done something right.'

'I think I need to check you for concussion again,' She teased. 'Or take _this_ away.' She tugged at the half-empty bottle and he resisted.

'No need to blame this on the alcohol,' She held her hands up at his defensiveness and went back to trying to put him back together again.

They sat in silence while she cleaned him up, at least until he grabbed her arm and said with the barest hint of slur 'I mean it, you know. I've never had someone like you. Everyone else, they want something, even if it's just for me to leave them alone.'

She smiled, smoothed back his sweaty hair and kissed his forehead. 'You are going to have an absolutely raging hangover tomorrow.' She promised.

'My arm still hurts.'

'I told you to get a medical professional.'

The Riddler took another swig of whisky. ' _Which three words are said too much, yet not enough?_ '

'That's enough whisky.' She replied and tried to take it off him but he cradled it to his chest and smirked.

'Wrong. Well, maybe not, but the answer is-'

'I know what the answer is. I don't need to hear it to know it.' She replied softly and finally succeeded in prying the whisky from his fingers.

'I love you.' He slurred.

I know.' She replied.

* * *

A/N: I finally succeeded in writing something cute! BASK IN IT. It's the only time you'll ever hear the ILY phrase and it's cause Riddler's drunk off his tits and it's in the context of a riddle. HAAAA (they're so fucking dysfunctional, someone save them).

Anecdotally: He totally did have a ranging hangover the next morning and spent the majority of the day moaning about his head or his shoulder until Deborah threatened to inject anti-inflammatories directly into the joint. That really, really, really _hurts_. He shut up.


	44. Love Songs

**Love songs**

Police sirens were in the distance as two people - one in a garishly green suit, the other in a biker jacket - burst out of the jewellery store laden with necklaces, rings. One of them was wearing a tiara. Nobody had expected Riddler to really care about jewels, or plan a heist on a Tuesday afternoon, but it beat out sitting in the hideout and brooding on what was taking the death robot's parts so long to ship from China.

And he looked good in a tiara.

Both of them were laughing as they ran towards the end of the street. The police cruiser that pulled up and tried to block their path did very little to really slow them down. Riddler slid over the bonnet of the car as the doors were half-open, Dead Switch leapt up and over it; in her place she'd left the microbombs she was so fond of carrying. 'Out!' The sergeant ordered and both uniformed cops flung themselves from the car as the bombs detonated and destroyed the cruiser. There would be no chasing them in that.

The cackles were heading into the distance. At this rate, the GCPD would never catch them.

Deborah Scott watched the carnage unfold and turned back to look at Edward, laughing still, when she realised he'd burst into an open square that was filled with cafes and had stopped dead. 'Boss?' She panted as she caught up to him and suddenly went rigid herself.

She couldn't move - couldn't even speak. It was like her whole body had just stopped listening to her frantic demands to move. Even her mouth had shut - for once. The only things she had control over were her eyes which were probably comically wide and alarmed. What was going -

' _The light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed, and it's not like the stories, it's never like what they said. I know who you want me to be, but I'm just not there yet. Yeah, the broken road's always been home and it's so hard to forget.'_

Was - he was singing! She recognised the song, vaguely. She could also see his eyes under the tiara perched jauntily where his trademark bowler hat should have been. He was panicking, seemingly under the same influence that she was.

Getting louder - police sirens.

' _I might think too much, drink too much, stay out too late. I know I'm just a fool, but I swear I can change. I can't steal you the stars, but I can give you this second hand heart. All your friends think I'm hopeless, they don't understand, That this imperfect love can start over again. It's been broken apart - Will you still take my second hand heart?'_

Somewhere under the panic, cursing and total confusion - Dead Switch had to admit, he had a nice voice. It was loud and clear and held his tone easily. His hand came down, almost jerkily at first towards her own and she felt her body move even as she resisted to take it.

What was this, Gotham, The Musical!? Whatever was going on she needed to snap out of it and -

Her mouth was opening. _Why was it opening?!_ No - no! She couldn't sing, could barely dance. This was not going to happen, even if she broke every bone in her body this wasn't going to -

Her hand took his and he twirled her around as she heard herself sing.

' _Yeah, the light of the morning finds you sleeping in my bed. Oh, and it's not like the stories, it's never like what they said, and I know who you want me to be, but I'm just not there yet. Yeah, the broken road's always been home and it's so hard to forget!'_

Jewellery and gems flew everywhere as their haul came loose. Her feet moved of their own accord in a way that she would never be able to replicate, as though this entire thing were choreographed. She'd be impressed if she wasn't raging. Kill her _now_. She was singing and dancing in the middle of a street, on a heist, and couldn't stop herself.

The police were closing in and she was singing a love song at Edward, moves and all.

Help. How was this happening? Why was it happening?

Her eyes scanned the square, looking for some sort of escape. Every face was a rictus of horrified and amused as The Riddler and Dead Switch sang a duet.

They were never living this down.

This would never be forgotten. Please tell her nobody was recording this because if she ever discovered footage of this embarrassing … fit of song … on the internet or otherwise - she would make it her sole and unstoppable mission to find the person who recorded it and make them the test subject for a particularly nasty Riddle Room. Just watch her do it.

' _If you let me show you, I could love you the same. And I can't steal you the stars, but I can try every day, oh, you know they'll never tear us apart. And I'm just a fool, but I swear I can change. I can't steal you the stars, but I can try every day. And you know, you've got my second hand heart!'_

She was going to kill someone for this. Slowly. Painfully. It may just have to be herself. How was this even -

Dead Switch caught a flash of purple from the window of a cafe. Of course. Of _course_ there'd be some garish meta running around Gotham and trying to one-up the - hey, hey, hey! She was _not_ designed to be bent that way!

Edward bent her almost painfully back, his eyes completely apologetic and enraged, as they moved into the final bars of the song. She was back upright in an instant, twirling around and onto one knee facing Edward as the purple-suited freak appeared at the front of the crowd, clapping.

'Very well done, Riddler. I must say, I never took you for a tenor.'

The sirens were loud now, almost around the corner as they knelt, frozen in place as though they were expressing their love to each other.

'Music Meister-' Edward managed to grit against his teeth.

'Oh, my friend, up to your same old tricks.' What the good fuck was going on?! Edward clearly knew him and - knowing Edward - Riddler had done something to piss him off. Music Meister walked forward, plucked the tiara that was all that was left of their haul from Edward's head and stared at it critically. 'Still, you find ways to surprise me, but what musical doesn't have a twist or two?'

'Give that back and let us go!' Edward raged.

'Nope.' The tiara disappeared under the garish hat.

The sirens had been cut - doors were opening and closing. The cops were almost on top of them. Edward looked to be panicking now. 'Meister! I swear if you walk away without freeing us-'

'Be seeing you around, Riddler.' He tipped his hat and laughed. 'I enjoyed the performance!' The purple suited meta waved and disappeared into the crowd just as the cops appeared to arrest them.

'Meister!' Edward raged.

They could only begin to move again once the cuffs were on and a pair of confused uniforms were reading them their rights.

The hell had just happened?

In the back of the squadcar - not the one she'd blown up, that would go on her destruction tab, which would be aired like dirty laundry at the trial. She'd be heading straight into Arkham, again, when that was brought up - Dead Switch kicked Edward hard and hissed 'I feel violated!'

'Join the club. He stole my tiara.' Edward muttered resentfully.

'What did you do to him?!'

'Why is it always me?!' He snapped back.

'Because I know you!' She snarled.

'... touche.'

* * *

 **A/N:** The obligatory musical song choices were Up! - Olly Murs, You Give Love A Bad Name - Bon Jovi, Girlfriend - Avril Lavigne, and Can't Rely on You- Paloma Faith. The list could go on to infinity, I'm sure. I have an … eclectic music taste.

Edward does a lot of things to his friends. He's also highly oblivious to his own behaviour. God knows what he did to Meister to make the public humiliation and arrest necessary and at this point, I think he doesn't want to see the man again in case Meister takes more offence and makes him sing Justin Bieber songs.


	45. Date Night

**Date Night**

'I don't like leaving the thugs alone for the night. They could go snooping where they don't belong. They could burn the place down in the five hours we're gone.' Edward adjusted his tie and smoothed down his hair in the large mirror that Deborah was using to apply make-up.

'They'll be fine.' She reassured him as he primped from behind her.

'How can you possibly know that?'

'I may have dumbo-proofed the entire hideout.' She mused as she swiped a small brush of powder across her skin. She was still wearing loungewear and hadn't done a thing with her hair, because of course the first thing a woman starts on is her makeup.

That seemed to throw him. 'The entire hideout?'

'Most of it.' She agreed.

Riddler still didn't look like he wanted to do this. 'Perhaps it would be best if we cancelled. The project is in a delicate state right now. With the swindling of that idiot businessman we can make some headway.' He looked away for a second and then down at her unhappy face.

'The reservations have been rearranged three times, Edward. Those Hamilton tickets were expensive.' She swiped a deep burgundy lipstick across her lips and checked for smears on her teeth before she used the mirror to glare up at him. 'I can't rearrange again.'

'I'm simply saying-'

The Riddler was grabbed by the tie and yanked down harshly to Dead Switch's level. 'It's Valentine's Day, Edward. We're going for a meal and we're going to watch Hamilton and later, we're going to get very drunk and handsy. There's going to be no talk of Batman. There's going to be no checking in on the idiots, watching the webcams, or talking shop. Are we clear?'

'Crystal.' Edward replied in a quiet voice at the look of absolute rage on his partner's face. He'd never seen this kind of reaction - well, not aimed at him, anyway. There had been the time that some middle-eastern terrorist had beaten her to being the FBI's most wanted - She hadn't taken that too well - or the time a thug had shot her in the foot by accident and she'd spent her morning tediously feeding pieces of him into a meat grinder and hissing curses every time her foot twinged.

Her anger fell away almost instantly and she brightened. The tie fell loose from her fist. 'Excellent!'

And she said _he_ was insane. He adjusted his tie again and glanced at her. Edward had never considered her to be the type to conform to holidays like Valentines Day. Deborah had never seemed like the romantic type. Practical, almost certainly.

Clearly, this date meant something to her and not even the winged rodent was going to disrupt it.

He had to admit, she had been patient with him. Had rearranged this date so often that she couldn't rearrange again. Hamilton was in Gotham for only so long…

Deborah looked up at him and asked 'Could you _impress_ upon the idiots what will happen if we come back to a burned out hideout, again? You're so good at it and they listen better to you.'

He preened ever so slightly at her flattery. It was probably going to take some time for her to finish getting ready anyway. 'Of course I'm better at it.' He replied as she checked her teeth again. 'You give them far too many warning shots in the leg.'

She gave him a sly look as he left to berate the thugs. It wasn't the first time the thugs had burned down the place. He had to limit their contact with the internet at large. He could only listen to 'There was a spider and Dave saw a thing on youtube about a lighter and some spray -' So many times before he considered they were doing this on purpose.

* * *

'-And I don't care if it looks like a Black Widow. I don't care if it looks like a Brown Recluse or a _Pink Panther_ \- if I come back here and find a _single scorch mark_ I am going to -' He realised the thugs were no longer paying attention to him. He turned skeptically and paused as he registered Deborah standing in the doorway.

Edward Nigma has never seen Deborah Scott in green - not completely. There are always other colours - Blacks or blues, usually - mixed in. He'd never seen her wear a floor-length dress - she's always contrived to wear trousers or shorts. They were more comfortable and durable. He'd never seen her wear delicate lace - it looked fragile and elegant. Simple silver shoes peeked out from under the emerald green hem. She'd done something to her hair - as opposed to the usually blast-swept way she kept it.

He was vaguely aware his mouth was opening and closing but nothing was coming out.

'You look nice, boss-lady.'

She smirked as Edward felt jealousy for a brief second. 'Thank you, Mannie.'

And he'd wanted to rearrange this. 'You do look quite substantially different, Deborah.' He uttered quietly.

An eyebrow raised. 'I could swear that was almost a compliment, Edward.'

Emotional child. That was what she was. Edward turned back to the thugs, still ogling their boss-lady and said 'Don't stay up too late, children.'

'You might see something you regret.' He didn't even attempt to stop the eye roll. Could she act like a semi-sane adult for five minutes? Just five minutes.

He held out an arm and she graciously accepted it. 'Happy Valentine's Day, my dear.'

'Happy Valentine's Day. Let's go, dinner won't wait this time.'

They may end up skipping dinner, now that he thought about it.

* * *

A/N: Of course, Edward. Label the emotional child Deborah because projection and insanity. You know I'm gearing up to do something super horrible to them when I start churning out the cute stuff but it's valentines day.

The thugs take KILL IT WITH FIRE to a whole new level. Edward does not appreciate it.

This is actually the first part of a two-parter because I have to ruin things. Deborah's psychopathic need for this to go well _or else_ will not be satisfied. Buahahaha! But the second half will not be ready until some time after Valentines so - here this is.


	46. Definition of Insanity

**Definition of Insanity**

A/N: Warning! Here be insanity. And more AU. I blame my marathon Gotham catch-up. DON'T SPOIL IT. #ILaughedWhenIsabellaDied #ItTook2EpsiodesTooLong #MurderHusbandsBandwagon #HalluciKristinIsSavage #ILikeHerBetterThanNormalKristin #OmgINeedToStopHashtaggingStuff.

Yes, I am mean releasing this just in time for valentines day. My friends have given up stopping me.

* * *

Riddler HQ was silent. Not a thing stirred, not a thing moved.

Edward Nigma sat in his old, understuffed computer chair and stared listlessly at the computer monitor as he ran through news articles. They all blurred together, were all unimportant. There were no schemes in the making, no plots to get rid of Batman or steal anything of value. There was nothing.

It had been six months since all that had ground to a halt. Was it really six months? Already? A hand scrubbed at the week old beard he was growing and then reached up to rub his eyes.

'You haven't shaved.'

His breath caught in his throat. _Not again_.

'I can smell you clear across the room, too, boss.' She chided.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the gentle rebuke that was coming from behind him. She was always so good at lecturing him. It wasn't the first time she'd done it but this time - this time there was a difference.

It was a very big difference.

Deborah Scott was dead. Officially dead for over six months. Caught in the premature detonation of a bomb she had been working on. There hadn't been much left of the building - there hadn't been much left of her. Edward had escaped any kind of danger, was lucky in that regard - he'd been visiting Oswald when the building exploded. When she'd -

'Go. Away.' The Riddler growled and hunched over. Fingers ran through his greasy hair, trying to remind himself that she was dead and this - this wasn't her. 'Go away!'

'Irritable, aren't you? When was the last time you ate anything? Slept properly? Saw some actual sunlight, Edward?'

He couldn't remember.

He … couldn't remember.

Edward wasn't going to dignify this insanity by turning around to face her - he'd made that mistake before and his nightmares for weeks had been riddled with the horrors of seeing her covered in blood and brick-dust and burn marks. He did not want to repeat that.

'You're not in good shape, boss. As your head _less_ idiot -' He winced at that turn of phrase. 'I think you should get some fresh air. Take a walk in the park - visit Ivy. Or maybe Crane. Tell him about all those dark little feelings you aren't telling anyone about.'

' _WHAT_ feelings?!' Edward Nigma demanded and made the mistake of turning to face her, angrily. He turned back swiftly enough and buried his head in his hands. A shudder wracked his frame. 'What do you want from me?' He begged.

'You need help boss. Legitimate help. I know about those plans for Batman. The ones you won't share with the idiots. The ones where there _is_ no walking away - it's him or you. They're suicidal, Edward.'

She sounded so soft and concerned. She never usually sounded like that. Of all the things he could have coped with - he couldn't cope with that.

'Go away.' He begged and felt his breath hitch. 'Just - go away. Please.'

He could see her silhouette on the monitor in front of him, reaching out for his shoulder. He picked up his cane and turned to swing but there was nothing there.

There was no-one there. Somehow, that was worse than the bloody, brick-beaten corpse that he generally saw. The cane dropped to the floor and he gasped a heaving sob. The one person who had truly cared about him - his wellbeing - was gone. Dead Switch was gone.

She was gone.

* * *

'Irish coffee? At this time in the morning?'

He tried to ignore it - her. Tried to block out the mental picture of her curious face, raised eyebrow. He'd taken to ignoring her these last few days, even as she picked apart everything he was doing and called him out on it.

'You're not rich enough to be an alcoholic, boss.'

Go away. Go away, _please go away._ He took another gulp of coffee, could taste too much whiskey in it.

'Your suit's hanging up where you left it. Maybe you should change. Put it on. Go rob a jewellery store or something.' She offered. 'Gotta be better than sitting around here all day-'

He turned and threw the coffee mug at her voice. It shattered on the wall, but she was no longer there.

'That was a waste of good whiskey.' Dead Switch mused from behind him. Edward groaned angrily to himself. 'Leave me alone!'

'I can't. You need help.'

'I never asked for help!' He raged to the empty apartment. Emotion overcame him. He sank down to his knees and cried. 'I just wanted you.'

For the first time all night, the apartment was silent. He hated it.

* * *

His therapist was droning on. Edward let the man talk and scratched at the rough fabric around his ribs. The scratching was mildly painful but far more soothing to his raw skin. What kind of material were these straitjackets made out of? Burlap? Cactus needles? Cat hair?!

'Do you think he's worked out you've already released yourself?'

Edward tried to ignore it and focused instead on making his therapist feel like a dunce - which, clearly, he was.

'You haven't told him about me, boss. I feel left out.'

He ignored that one too. Bringing up the fact he saw his dead lover slash partner in crime would only work against him. It was too personal, too - well his therapist wouldn't really understand. How could he? He was an idiot with no idea who he was messing with.

'-Mr Nigma are you paying attention?'

'Uh-oh, boss. Play the meds card, maybe they'll lower them and let you think for a moment. Dangerous, but he _is_ a simpleton.' Edward considered that. They may just change his medication altogether and he'd end up drooling into the carpet. He'd only just built a tolerance to the drugs he was currently on, he had no desire to go back to mumbling incoherently.

'I am fully engaged in the conversation at hand, doctor.' Edward lied easily.

'Then by all means, tell me how you're feeling. It's been nine months since Ms Scott passed away. I understand you two were close.'

From behind him, Dead Switch snorted. 'Close, he says.'

A vast understatement. Edward settled back and sighed. 'I miss her.' He replied quietly. 'Why, sometimes I can even still hear her.' He mocked, his head turned ever so slightly.

'Fuck you too, boss.' She said sweetly into his ear. He could swear he felt the ghost of her breath across his hair and skin. It worried him that this time he may actually be insane and not just cleverer than most.

'Losing someone can be hard, especially for - well - people like you, Edward.'

'People like me? I don't know what you're implying, Doctor.'

'The mentally ill.' He said, bluntly in Edward's opinion. 'I understand that people of your calibre find it hard to build friendships and relationships. You find it hard to connect to people.'

'And that's why I do what I do?' Edward sneered. 'Please. I don't do what I do because I lack a stable support system, Doctor, and I have plenty of friends.'

'All criminal, I note.'

'Well, what's the fun of normal people?'

'They're only fun in a Riddle Room. Hey, boss, remember that guy two years ago who electrocuted himself before you'd even gotten past the script about being in a Riddle Room? God, he was dumb.'

He remembered. He remembered raging at her for days after that they hadn't even gotten anything useful out of it. What an idiot.

'You're smiling, Mr Nigma.' His therapist noted with a frown. 'Why are you smiling?'

'I am capable of it,' He replied haughtily. 'I was reminded of something amusing.'

'I'm sure it's humorous to you, but other people don't tend to think along the same lines.'

'I see you read Doctor Young's transcripts.' Edward's smile became sly. 'Did you like the riddle? She certainly didn't.'

'I'm not here to talk about myself, Edward.' His therapist sighed. 'I'm here because you're worrying the staff at Arkham.'

'They should be worried. My intellect-'

'They hear you talking, Edward. In your cell. To a dead woman.' The therapist pinned him with a particularly pitying look. 'We all experience grief in our own ways, Edward, but this isn't healthy.'

'Oooh, I think he means me, boss. Should I be offended? I think I should be offended.' Dead Switch mocked.

He was offended as well. 'What I do is none of your concern, Doctor.'

'Isn't it?' His therapist posed. 'It's what I'm here for. To help you.'

* * *

'It was your fault.'

He woke to two glassy blue eyes and immediately rolled over, tried to shove the pillow over his head to avoid seeing or hearing her.

Every time he tried to sleep.

She was always either worried or accusatory.

'If you'd been there, you would have seen it. You would've stopped me. I would have stopped myself. I'm always more careful when you're there.'

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. He knew she could be reckless and health and safety standards were almost non-existent but he couldn't have known - couldn't have stopped -

'If it's any consolation, it was painless.' He could feel hands tugging at the pillow and held it tighter.

Please - just leave him alone. He couldn't - he couldn't sleep, couldn't think, couldn't grieve.

'I don't want you to end up like me.'

Then leave him alone, please.

'Edward-'

Somehow, that was worse than the accusations. Worse than seeing a mangled, bloody body. It sounded so normal, so routine. Like she had never -

He got up, careful to never look at her and reached for his phone.

'Are you going to listen to me, for a change?'

Go. Away.

'What?!' Jon sounded cranky. Either he hadn't been to sleep yet (likely) or he hadn't been asleep long.

Edward took a deep, shuddering breath and said 'I need your help, Jonathan.'

'I told you, Edward I'm not doing another hei-'

'Not - not work related.' The Riddler replied quietly. 'I need a psychologist and you're the only one I trust.'

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the phone. 'I see.' He didn't sound surprised. He must've known this was coming.

'I think I'm having a mental break, Jon. I see her everywhere.'

'I'm coming over.'

He could feel a cold hand in his hair. 'Do you think Scarecrow will help?'

He ran a hand down his face and felt dampness beneath his fingers. He'd do anything - _anything_ \- to give himself (and her) respite. Please.

If only for the night.

He hadn't bothered to change, just threw his dressing gown on and sat at the kitchen table. Stared into the steam that rose from his coffee.

Jonathan's arrival had been quiet. Unsurprising, given the hour. Crane could be silent when he wanted to be. He sat across from Edward and stared in that creepy, unblinking way that used to terrify Deborah. Perhaps that was why she no longer pestered him right now.

'Why did you call me over at 3 in the morning, Edward?' Jonathan Crane demanded. He was wearing part of his costume, Edward assumed his first instinct had been right - Jon had not been to sleep yet tonight. 'You said you were having a mental break.' Under that penetrating stare, he could see Crane evaluating him objectively. Curiously. Riddler would not say something like that unless he genuinely feared he was.

'It's...I see her, Jon.' Edward sighed and hunched over the table. A hand ran itself through greasy, unbrushed hair. 'Deborah. Everywhere.'

'And does she ever talk to you, Edward?' Jonathan asked carefully. A notebook came out. Normally, Edward would be offended but he let it slide. He knew Jon's shorthand. Could read his encrypted notes. Not many people could. His secrets were (probably) safe. The good doctor was always so possessive over his notes, patients, and inventions.

'Sometimes.' He replied listlessly.

'What does she say?'

'Scolds me. Worries. She blames me, for not - not being there.' Edward mumbled and looked up at The Scarecrow with dark, heartbroken eyes. 'She says she knows about my plans to kill Batman. That some of them … that I don't plan on walking away.'

'Hallucinating.' The Scarecrow finally murmured. 'Suicidal thoughts.' He scribbled in the notebook.

His ego rose at that. He _had not_ planned on killing himself - thank you kindly - he just … he hadn't given himself an exit. A contingency plan. A way _out_ if things, as they inevitably did, went south.

'Liar.' Well, that brief reprieve lasted long. He stiffened and sipped his coffee distractedly. 'Liar, liar pants on fire.' She sang. 'I never figured you for the kind of guy to make ultimatums, boss. You know everything is negotiable. Everyone has their price. Their breaking point.'

It took a long time for Edward to hear Jon. 'Nigma - she's here, isn't she?'

'Yes.' He croaked. 'Standing behind my chair.'

'What is she saying now?' Jonathan's head tilted, as though he were listening very intently.

'That I'm - I'm lying to you. That she never thought I was capable of ultimatums.' He gulped coffee and hissed 'Get rid of her!'

'It doesn't work like that.' Scarecrow deadpanned and scribbled something into the notepad again. Edward was beginning to hate it, just a little bit. Hated the way Jon spoke. It sounded condescending and authoritarian and now he realised that he quite honestly hated psychologists - even Crane - poking around in his head.

'When was the last time you got a full night's sleep, Edward?' The insane Doctor of Psychology asked quietly.

Now that was some time ago. For a while, he'd been able to live on micro-naps, drank more coffee than was generally healthy and prayed that if he did fall asleep - he wouldn't see her in his dreams, too. 'Weeks?' He guessed. 'Weeks since unbroken sleep.'

'Yeah boss, when was the last time you didn't wake up in a cold sweat and clutching the pillow so tight it should have ripped apart in your hands?'

Go away, go away, go-

The scribbles went on far longer than Edward would have liked. 'And how have you coped, since her demise, Edward?'

'How do you think?' The Riddler bit back acerbically.

He decoded as Scarecrow wrote "Patient is irritable. Hasn't slept. Still finds the energy to be an asshole." Edward raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on it. It wasn't _wrong_.

'Anything else?'

Edward shifted but caught Crane's steady, piercing gaze again. Now he could understand why Jon was such an effective therapist. His stare alone could drag things out of people they wouldn't necessarily say. 'I don't - I try to avoid looking at her because she - she's-'

'Not pristine?' Jonathan replied delicately.

'Yes.' It was because he was weak right now, wasn't it? Crane's hideously calculated charms worked too well.

Another scribble in the notebook. The Scarecrow sighed heavily. 'I know what's wrong, Edward.'

'There's something wrong? Golly-gee, Jon, _I would never have known_.' He snarled and grit painfully 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean-'

'I know.' Crane replied in what was surely his one and only deferment this year. 'You're depressed, Edward.'

What? No. That doesn't happen to him. He's The Riddler. He's Edward Nigma. The most brilliant mind in Gotham, if not the world. He doesn't get _depressed_. Not over something like - like _emotion_ \- Stupidity, now that was different. He could beat himself against a wall until he damaged something if he was stuck in a cell with Dave the useless cretin for the rest of his days. He could understand it then, but over something he had no control over?

'You cannot face your feelings. Or the guilt of letting Scott die. The depression won't let you. So your mind has conjured a version of her that forces you to try and face them.'

'In the guise of destroying my sanity?' He demanded. 'No. Your diagnosis is wrong.'

'I'm never wrong, Edward.' Jonathan replied calmly and closed his notebook with a snap. 'And I do not appreciate being dragged over here at 3 in the morning for a diagnosis you refute.'

'I do refute it, Jonathan.' Edward replied angrily. 'My mind is not broken!'

'Debatable, _Riddler_.'

'You know Creepy Crane's right, don't you?' Deborah teased from behind him. 'You just won't admit it. I wonder how many of these cases he dealt with? How many he…. Helped along?'

Edward grit his teeth and tried to ignore her. It was easier to ignore when a small bottle appeared on the table in front of him, wrapped in long spindly fingers. 'What are those?' He demanded. Only a fool would actually ingest something that Crane had given them. After all, Scarecrow had perfected his drug in both liquid and gas - Edward wouldn't put it past him to have made a solid to slip into things like this.

'Antidepressants, Edward.' The psychologist sighed and watched Riddler baulk.

'I am not depressed, Crane!' Edward hissed. 'How many times must we go over this?! I just want a good night's sleep.'

'I won't force you to take them, Edward, but I also stand by my diagnosis.' Jonathan replied and slipped the notebook into a recess of his costume. 'Take them, or don't.' The Scarecrow stood in his full, impressive, height. 'Goodnight.'

Damn him. Edward sat and stared at the small bottle in front of his coffee for the longest time after Jonathan had departed.

'There could be anything in there, do you want rid of me so badly?'

His fingers tightened on the mug.

'What does Crane know, anyway? A five minute therapy session and he settles on depressed. Well, he is the most brilliant psychologist in Gotham. And your friend. And not blind-'

'Shut up.'

'You're thinking about taking them. Hey, boss, what if Scarecrow _has_ put Toxin in them? Is nobody going to point out here that he had them _prepared_?' Two singed, pinked and dirty hands gripped the edge of the table to his left and he could almost hear the bones cracking as she leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear ' _He knew this was coming_.'

In a second Edward was up on his feet again, an arm had flung his coffee and the tablets to the floor. The mug exploded all over the chipped tile - the tablets survived their fall. Edward left it all and stormed away. Anywhere to be as far from those things - and Deborah - as he could get.

* * *

He wasn't sure why he'd saved them. Perhaps it was because Jon had given them to him. Perhaps it was in the futile hope that maybe they would make her go away - but he wouldn't consume them just yet. Edward Nigma had not survived Gotham this long without a very keen sense of self-preservation and paranoid bent of mind. Before he even considered ingesting these things, he'd "borrowed" Gotham University's mass spectrometer and spent all day looking over the results for the barest hint of Toxin. Nothing. Either this was an entirely new strain - doubtful, Jon wouldn't have come at all, barely ate or slept if that were the case. Would be too obsessed with it - or he hadn't poisoned the tablets.

That left Edward in a rather unique position. He'd been almost praying that there was something wrong with them. It wasn't simply that he was hesitant to prove Jon _right,_ it was that it would mean that something was wrong with his precious brain. His brain was all he had now and now, seemingly, even that was turning on him.

'We could run through this again, if you like.'

The results - all within normal parameters for strong antidepressants came down. She was leaned against the kitchen counter. Ash and brick dust fell from her arm as one finger lazily drew shapes on the counter. Later, he would bleach it to within an inch of it's life out of sheer habit and disgust - he could see it. He tried to ignore her again and went back to the papers.

'I die, you lose the plot, even Crane feels sorry for you and gives you actual medicine that does not have a hint of Toxin in it.'

He grit his teeth and knew that she was taunting him into reacting to her.

'It's a pretty substantial fall, boss. Pretty soon uppity little shits are going to think The Riddler is a joke. What have you done for the last nine months, besides brood all alone? Even the thugs are hiding from you.'

The bottle was right in front of him. In Scarecrow's cramped and spiked handwriting: _Take ONE TWICE DAILY. Review in 7 days for additional medication._

Was it his mind? Had it failed him in the cruelest fashion? Dredging Deborah up to flay him as he drowned in depression?

'Edward, are you listening to your headless lackey? I died for you. You _killed me_.'

He made up his mind. There was no way he could continue to live like this. It was as if his mind was determined to really drag him over the coals for what had happened and it was getting worse. Her attacks on him - his mind's vicious lashing attacks on himself - were getting worse. He could no longer live in denial about this.

'I didn't kill you. I'm sorry, Deborah, I should have been there - but I didn't kill you.'

The cap of the bottle came off and he shook a pill free. Edward stared at it for a second before he swallowed it with a handful of coffee. When he looked up, she was gone with no sign of ever having been there. Why would she be? She was buried on Arkham Island like so many other unfortunate former inmates.

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and felt his chest ache as though it had become so used to carrying this heavy burden. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

She was gone, he was not. Not yet.

 _Goodbye, Deborah_.


	47. The Recruit

**The Recruit**

The dock was a busy one. At least a dozen men moving boxes and crates from a container to a series of vans. Four in the morning was hardly the best time to do this, but it was the best time to avoid being seen. Riddler wanted this as quiet as possible, it seemed. It was impossible to keep this _completely_ quiet - the bodies would take forever to disappear - but certainly quiet enough to evade detection by everyone's favourite bat-menace and most government agencies.

Rumour being what it was, however, your plans were never completely quiet. Especially to certain government agencies that had been made fool of previously. They tended to hold grudges - which was where he came in. Andrew Burnham was a two time ex-con. Third strike and he'd been looking at a long stretch with associated misdemeanors. But being a Gothomite convict had one perk - at least to the CIA.

They were willing to cut him a deal if he could do one thing - infiltrate Riddler's operation and give them a win.

He moved through the throng of business until he found who he was looking for - sitting on the tail of a truck, smoking. The only one not hurried by the activity going on around them.

When Andrew had first heard the name Dead Switch he'd asked "Who's that guy?" and he was told " _She_ is gatekeeper to Riddler. You want into Riddler's gang - you go through her."

It was unusual to see women in this business - even stranger to see them near the top - but the more Andrew found about Dead Switch, the more he found disturbing. Rumour was she'd created her own brand of micro-bombs and used them to horrifying effect. He'd seen pictures of the last guy she'd force-fed those little volatile balls to. It was mostly red and mostly just chunks. Rumour also was she was more than just Riddler's gatekeeper. He really didn't have to ask much further. He didn't want details on what the crazies did in their free time.

'Uh, Dead Switch?'

She looked up from her phone and demanded 'Do I know you?'

She didn't look all that scary - nothing special, come to that. Andrew had to wonder if that last rumour about Riddler was right. 'Uh - no ma'am, I'm here to - I want to join Riddler's gang.'

That made her smile - and made her face all the more grim. 'Do you?' She purred. 'You think you're clever enough to run with Riddler, then?'

'I'm - to be honest, I'm average smarts but -' He paused as the phone came up and there was a shutter sound. 'Ma'am, did you just take a picture of my face?'

'Yes. Don't worry your stupid little head.' She replied condescendingly. Seemed Dead Switch had almost as big an ego as Riddler. There was a ding from the phone. 'All applicants get a mug-shot sent to Riddler.'

'O-oh.' He hoped nothing terrible showed up.

Prayed for it, in fact.

They were silent as men moved around them. Dead Switch seemed happy to let it spin out - an old cop trick, he knew. Eventually, despite knowing what it was, Andrew couldn't take it anymore. 'Don't you want me to tell you why I want to join?'

'That is irrelevant. I don't care.' She replied and took a long drag on the cigarette with every sign of enjoyment. 'I just need to know you can follow orders.'

'Yes, ma'am. I can do that.' He agreed. More than she knew.

Her phone beeped and she read it with an arched eyebrow. Eventually she said 'You're in.'

That easy? Was it really that easy? He couldn't believe his luck. Why was the CIA having such trouble with Riddler if this was all it took to get into his operation? Why hadn't they tried it from the very beginning?

Andrew paused as a gorilla in a suit approached the small woman and said deferentially 'We're loaded up, boss-lady.'

'Alright Zowie.' She dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the toe of one of her boots. 'They know where to drop it. We got one more stop to make. Have you met the newbie?' She indicated Andrew and Zowie looked him up and down critically.

'Boss approve?'

'Yes.' She replied. 'Get in the van, newbie.'

Andrew was sandwiched between Zowie and an equally large gorilla in a suit who was driving. Of all the room in the van, Dead Switch had the most - Zowie seemed to actively be squashing them to give her more room. 'Where we heading, boss-lady?'

'Far end of Container storage, Mannie.' She sat back comfortably in the room she had. 'Edward has a toy he needs securing.'

This could be good. Andrew could deliver some useful information on Riddler and not get to spend the next ten to twenty in jail. He could be out in five. The van started up and Mannie pulled out.

The silence in the cab was shattered by a peppy tune coming from Dead Switch " _Call me - beep me - if you wanna reach me!"_ She answered on the second go around. 'We're on our way to set up.' She was talking to Riddler. Andrew tried to listen in hard to see what was being said but she was winding down the window and speaking lowly. The wind was eating the other end of the conversation. 'I know, they try so hard. It's adorable.' She laughed quietly.

Suddenly he could understand why there were rumours about the two of them. The laugh itself was light-hearted - considering this small blonde woman was an insane terrorist with a sheet a mile long. It was a familiar - almost friendly - laugh. Nobody who was merely a business associate sounded like that. There was a tense silence coming from Mannie and Zowie which indicated that was so.

'I know the container, Edward.' Another sidelong look at him. 'Oh yes. He may come in useful.' After a few seconds of listening she ended the call and settled back. Nothing else was said until they pulled up at a dark green container. The only one on the lot, surrounded on all sides by other containers - white, red, blue - but no green, Andrew noticed. Just that one.

The lock on the container was also unlike any other. There was no slot for a key, but there was a large camera bolted to the thing. It came to life and scanned them. 'Authorisation: Dead Switch. Hello _Vexatious vermin!_ ' Chirped an artificial and happy voice.

Andrew blinked in surprise as, with a series of clicks, the lock disengaged. 'He made a new one.' She chuckled. Mannie and Zowie said nothing - Andrew decided to follow their lead and just not mention it. For someone rumoured to be more than just her employer's right hand woman, she didn't seem upset at the insult. More like amused. Dead Switch turned to look at him. 'Newbie. See the crate at the back?' Andrew squinted. There was only one crate in the entire container . It was small and didn't look secured whatsoever. Beside it was a metal chair that looked rusted. 'Go get what's in it.' She ordered.

Andrew threw a look at the three of them and then back to the crate. He approached and opened it cautiously - expecting what? What kind of toys did a man like Riddler need? There was a handful of things in the container but the biggest was a device that whirred into life when the lid opened.

'What is this?' He demanded.

'A signal jammer,' Dead Switch replied from close behind him. 'Just in case you're wearing a wire.' Andrew turned and met the pistol that was coming the other way.

He hit the floor, blinded by blood and knew, instantly that he'd been made. He tried to fight when hands grabbed for him - but this wasn't some five-five and 98 pound woman - these hands belonged to the gorrillas, and they brokered no argument.

Andrew had been strapped to the chair, still half blind and desperately trying to blink away the sting of blood in his eyes. When he'd finally managed it after a good 20 minutes, there was a new figure standing in front of him. Imposing and dangerous in turn. He was leaning on his cane with both fists and seemed entirely unfazed by him.

'Hello, Mr Burnham.' Riddler greeted. 'The CIA can't hear you here, I'm afraid.'

Ohgodno-

'Do you think you're the first idiot they've done this to? That _we've_ done this to?' So it wasn't rust on the chair. Oh god, what were they going to do to him? 'How did this one try it?' Riddler asked Dead Switch. She still didn't look that terrifying, but something had changed in her eyes. She seemed just as dangerous as Riddler right now.

'Walked right up to me and asked for a job.' She shook her head. 'Obvious.'

'They probably expected the simple approach could work.' Riddler sighed disappointedly. 'Well, someone more intelligent is bound to come looking for our little fish. Not _much_ more intelligent if this is their strategy to get to me. It's just a matter of waiting.'

The supervillain and his thugs turned to look at him and Andrew felt a cold shiver down his spine. He'd never signed up for this. They promised him that he wouldn't get caught - that he wouldn't end up like the pictures.

'They lied to you, Mr Burnham.' Riddler mocked as though he could read his mind. 'And now you are going to pay the price for their incompetence. Nobody will be coming for you for quite some time.'

The same thought had just occurred to Andrew. 'What - what do you want?'

'Information. You will talk one way or another. I myself don't have a taste for torture and Dead Switch is hilariously bad at it, but she is quite enthusiastic. It tends to get _splashy_.'

A unbidden image of chunks of flesh rose to mind. 'Please -' Andrew begged. 'I'll do anything!'

'Anything?' Riddler mused with a sadistic smile.

The CIA didn't force-feed people ticking time bombs and wait for it to go off. His psychotic pet whatever you want to call her would. She'd probably get off seeing how long it took. 'Anything.' Andrew agreed swiftly.

* * *

A/N: Have an old idea I've been fitfully playing with. Just to screw with the CIA, Edward spent some time giving them false information and using Andrew to hack into their databases. He could have done it himself, but it would have been fairly obvious. For about a month straight after they discovered Andrew was the mole they were still rooting out Riddler code that periodically sent the director scathing emails and set up Riddler meetings/alerts that were a pointless waste of their time. The file they had on him was also conveniently corrupted beyond repair - for them. Edward kept an uncorrupted copy to occasionally gloat with.

Andrew was initially intended to die, but Edward does abhor wasting gift-horses.

 **Christie Murdoch** : You flatter me! Thank you for such a glowing review. As someone who enjoys writing humour at every opportunity, I do find myself a little rusty when it comes to serious situations (and I feel bad for almost making you cry, but take heart that you weren't the only one to be hit with a feels train. I think I emotionally tortured a few good friends with that chapter too).


	48. Bets

**Bets**

A/N: This is ONE of THREE possible origins for Edward and Deborah's partnership. Yes, three. Like Joker I subscribe to the multiple choice origin theory! One of these days I'll get around to writing the other two. Anyway, I was watching BTAS and felt the urge to write this garbage - so enjoy! Poor Edward.

* * *

The atmosphere in the Asylum recreation room was tense to say the very least. Two predators circling each other. They'd done this before on a grander scale almost a year earlier, but this was much more contained - which made it that much more dangerous.

Rumour from the grapevine was the new inmate was something - not exactly special, but had potential. An expert in ballistics - specifically explosives - had gotten herself slapped with criminal insanity and terrorism charges and had been thrown into Arkham. You didn't see many of them in the loony bin.

One would think that Riddler would not have much need for someone who creates wanton destruction - especially when one considers that he does like to be _precise_ about his crimes and that he is fully capable of making his own bombs. Explosive compositions? More sophisticated mechanisms? He could - _obviously_ \- but why spare a moment's thought if he had his own personal expert on call?

The thought of The Joker having his own personal firework chef was terrifying and giddying in equal measure - at least to him. The things he could do with a certified terrorist on staff! Probably not for long; he had a nasty habit of using their own inventions against them (what? It was ironically funny).

Both men became aware of the other's interest at roughly the same time. Both had difficulty accepting loss. It was hardly a secret that Joker would be interested, but quite a few were surprised at Nigma's enquiries. The asylum seemed braced for warfare with both men so close to each other - not that the subject of their imminent catfight was aware of it - and it looked like it would start in the recreation room. All it would take were a few thinly veiled barbs, some threats and war it would be - until Two-Face had offered to settle it with the toss of his double-headed silver dollar.

'You want us to toss for it?' Joker snorted with glee.

'It's a 50/50 chance. We prefer the cell we've got. It's roomy.' Dent growled. 'Don't wanna see it blown up because of you two idiots fighting it out.'

'I'm offended Harv!' Joker gasped and clutched at the space where - presumably - his heart would be. 'You think I can't win?'

'We don't care who wins. We just like where we are and we wanna stay there, so unless you two have a better way of doing this-'

'I'm game.' Nigma replied confidently. 'How about you, Joker?'

'I don't see why I should!' Joker sulked. 'Explosives are _my_ forte. Not the leprechaun's. I have more of a need than Riddles.'

'Really, Joker?'

'What? It's true! Ask Harley.'

'Maybe he's afraid to lose,' Scarecrow chipped in from his seat at the chessboard with an awful grin.

'Me? _Afraid?!_ Ha!'

'Certainly seems that way, Joker. _**And I know a lot about fear**_.'

Joker threw a heated, hated look at Crane for a second. 'Fine!' He said suddenly bright. 'Lets flip a coin to decide! Wonderful idea, Harv.'

Two-Face flicked his thumb effortlessly and all three watched the trajectory of the coin as it rose into the air.

'Heads!' Joker called as it crested it's ascent of tumbling over and over itself.

'Tails.' Nigma replied in amusement.

'Good!' Joker cackled. He refused to give Nigma the last word.

'Bad.' Nigma replied sharp as ever.

'Winner!' Joker danced as the coin began it's descent.

'Loser.' Nigma mocked.

'Right!' The clown snarled.

'Wrong.' The Riddler sang.

The coin landed in the palm of Two-Face's blotched hand - Scarred side up.

' _NOOOOO!_ ' Joker lamented and began a tantrum that would have impressed an average two year old.

'Yes.' Nigma smiled in triumph. 'I won, Joker. A pleasure doing business.'

Joker looked for a second as though he couldn't decide whether to throttle The Riddler and do everyone a favour or leave it be. His eyes flicked around the room. The other rogues were watching him, the guards too seemed to be paying some small attention to the three of them.

'Well, Eddie, I guess you won fair and square.' He held out a hand.

For a second, Nigma looked suspicious at the sudden turn-around but nevertheless accepted the handshake - and proceeded to get an electric shock. Joker burst out laughing as The Riddler collapsed to the floor in pain. Guards were swooping in from everywhere but not before Joker had bent down and hissed 'You won the bet - but you never said anything about playing with your toys, Eddie.' The guards pulled them apart.

Nigma was heading directly for his cell, Joker was going back to solitary for another cavity search.


	49. Snores

**Snores**

She snores in her sleep. Not particularly loud, but it is a presence. Occasionally, she will stop and mumble something. This time it's "Not the Snozzberries…" and he has to stifle a chuckle, the shaking will wake her up.

They're watching - or were watching - Monty Python with whisky and popcorn. Either the alcohol has worked a little too well as a sleeping aid or she finds the film a tad boring, but Deborah has curled in around one side and has fallen asleep.

She smells like coconuts after the shower - under pain of a splashy death does an unwary person use her expensive and heavily scented shower gel to wash away the grime of hard labour - and while he fails to find it unpleasant he prefers the usual mix of oil, gunpowder, and metal.

She shifts in her sleep and he uses the opportunity to move his arm from the back of the couch to behind her, holding her close. The scent is stronger and stranger but it's her. He can deal with it.

His fingers drum on the lip of his whisky glass in the other hand, currently empty as he watches the famous Black Knight scene but despite trying to pay rapt attention to the television, he feels his eye wander down to her. Hair scraped back, a baggy tank top and shorts for the hot Gotham night. She's radiating heat but he won't move her. Not if there's a chance of her waking up.

She looks comfortable. Content. Despite his heart being a shrivelled black mass in his chest he finds it brings a smile to his face. For once in his life he can't think of a single place he would rather be, right now. There are no schemes running in the back of his mind, no stress about placements or clues, there is just him, her, and the movie.

Things had happened so quickly that he wasn't sure what this was - they'd worked together for so long, happy in the way things were and then - they both crossed a line; but here, now, he realised that he cared for her more than he should readily admit to. If Waller had gone after anyone else, he would have left them to their fate - but Deborah? No.

Fingers involuntarily curl around her arm at the vivid reminder of the bruises and the limp. He forces himself to relax when a small crease worms its way onto her forehead and she shifts, throwing an arm across his chest as though she's reassuring him, even in her sleep. He finds it endearing that even while dead asleep, she supports his efforts.

He doesn't really deserve it. He knows it in the pit of his soul.

The black knight gets his arm chopped off and utters "Tis' but a scratch!" He always did like the dry wittiness of British humour but finds his eye wandering down again.

Deborah is always there for him. Edward doesn't think he's ever asked _why_. He knows she has nobody else, a little like him - too good at burning bridges. Or, blowing them up in her case - and she has a nasty habit of mother-henning people and then _denying_ it, but he would have expected their working relationship to be less … intimate. For it not to last as long as it has. It helps that, as a skilled bomb maker, her talents _are_ useful to him. She has technical knowledge of mechanics and wiring that rivals his own. She could read his schematics and know what he needs at a glance. She could put it all together almost as well as he could and she doesn't need her hand held while she does it.

She is a second pair of hands to him. Invaluable, irreplaceable, indispensable. Irritating.

For all her virtues, she could act like any other meat-headed neanderthal. For all her insight, all she sees is what she wants to. For all her knowledge - she persists with rudimentary explosive devices.

Without him she would be just another terrorist. She has such poor impulse control without him to correct her and this is a lesson he finds himself repeating and repeating again as though she is _incapable of learning_.

Anyone else - _anyone_ \- would have been thrown into a riddle-room to die by now. But he always stayed his hand. Because he sees something in Deborah he rarely ever sees. _Curiosity_.

It's … a riddle.

He loves riddles.

This? He isn't sure what this is. He knows he's unhealthily attached to her. Knows that people will use that against him and she makes such a song and dance about not needing his help, even if she clearly does. She would rather cut off a hand than admit that to him at any point. He shouldn't, but he likes that about her. Spiteful, vindictive little Deborah. She has an ego, she is human. He doesn't have an ego whatsoever but not everyone can be like him. There is nobody like him.

'Boss...'

He freezes when he thinks she's awake. His brilliant brain isn't giving him very many options right now. 'Hm?' He mutters and pretends he's paying more attention to the movie but he doesn't get a response. He glances down at her and realises she's talking in her sleep again. About him.

He's flattered he's always on her mind, really. Awake or asleep.

'Love you.' She mumbles into his shirt as her grip on him becomes borderline painful.

He freezes this time because he's in pain and clearly never thought that would slip out of her mouth.

No, no, no. The four letter word for attachment (beginning with L) was not meant to be uttered. Especially not when she is practically curled around him like a cat, dreaming about him. This was and will never be exclusively L word.

What does he do? His brain is still actively coming up blank - for a change. Should he do nothing? Poke her awake and pretend he heard nothing?

Her fingers are really quite painful on his skin, now that he thought about it.

He pokes her in the ribs and she squirms, the tight grip on his shirt and chest - he swears if he has scratches there will be hell to pay - is more painful than ever. He pokes her again and mutters 'Dead Switch.'

Nothing.

How - just _how_ \- is she such a deep sleeper? He leans down and whispers 'Batman.'

She sits up, blearily alert and looking around. 'Whuh?'

'You fell asleep, Deborah.' Edward replies and reaches out for the whisky now that his arm is free. He pours a generous amount and lifts up his shirt. There are deep welts in his skin. ' _What_ were you dreaming about?'

A hand goes into the bird's nest of hair and she frowns. 'Don't remember.'

A likely answer. Well, now that she is awake he can direct her attention to the movie again. She will see the genius that was far beyond it's time. He's sure of it.

She resumes her curled place on the couch, cuddles up to him despite the stickiness and the heat, and begins to watch the television with every sign of rapt attention.

It doesn't take too long for her to fall asleep on him. Again. He sips his whiskey and settles in to watch the movie on his own. Evidently, Monty Python is not for her.

* * *

A/N: Something cute this time around. I have this headcanon that Edward really enjoys British dry wit, Deborah doesn't much care for it. Also I seem to have a theme of reverse scenarios so it seemed only right and fair that he hears the L word back even if he's too emotionally stunted to really want to hear it.

Deborah's reaction to the word Batman as a trigger is taken from my own experiences when hearing the word "Chocolate" while taking a nap.


	50. Aper

**Aper**

Part 1

'Hey Batfuck. You finally ready to join the loonies? Here to sign my cast?'

He should have expected hostility from Dead Switch. Her arm was in a sling and she had been returned to Arkham Asylum. He had been responsible for that. She had thoroughly deserved it, since she tried to stab out one of his eyes and he'd been forced to break her arm to make her let go of the knife. Batman gave her a silent stare down before he pushed the photocopy through the bars of her cell. She gave him a withering look - probably along the lines of "You broke my arm, you bastard, why would I play your game?" but bent to pick up the paper after a length.

'Hm,'

Was that good, or bad? He wasn't about to ask her. She was already hostile.

'I've been in Arkham since Friday. Wasn't me.' She shrugged apathetically.

'Really?' He returned.

Eventually, she lowered the paper and stared. 'What, you want me to sing like a canary? Tell you I made this?' Dead Switch mocked. 'I didn't build this. I don't have a monopoly on bombs, you know.'

'If you didn't, Dead Switch, who did?' He growled.

'As if it would be that easy. You broke my arm.' She sniffed in affront. 'The cast itches. And it's _pink_.'

'People almost died today.'

She snorted heavily and began a lazy loop back to her bed. She waved the paper at him. 'This is the museum, isn't it? I thought so.' She smirked at the look on his face. 'People almost die every day. You almost died on Friday. You almost died _yesterday_.'

'You're telling me you and Nigma had nothing to do with this.' He deadpanned. Didn't believe it, either. The evidence was compelling. The bomb itself looked like something Dead Switch would make and even if he wanted to believe her then there were other clues at the scene. Compelling ones.

'I know what you're thinking, Batman, "And pigs'll fly" but that's what I'm saying.'

'Turn it over and tell me you had nothing to do with it.' He growled.

Her wrist flicked over and she stared at the photo on the other side of the paper. It was a wall and painted on it was a riddle. It wasn't in Nigma's handwriting, Batman knew that. Nor was it in Scott's. They _could_ have paid someone else to do it. Wouldn't be the first time Nigma hired someone else to muddy the waters. ' _What time is spelled the same forward and backwards?_ You think Riddler wrote this?' She chortled.

'Do you know the answer?' Batman demanded.

'I don't riddle.'

'You answer them.'

'It's not one of Edward's.' She cut back. Not them. Not her bomb, not Nigma's riddle. She was lying to him.

'Tell me what's going on, Scott.' He warned her.

'Why? You're the detective.'

'Don't make me come in there and -'

'Break the other arm?' She asked innocently. 'If that's all you've got to threaten me with, it's poor effort.'

He brooded, aware that it wasn't enough to make her talk. There wasn't much that could if she chose to hold her cards close and if it concerned Nigma, she held them extremely close.

'So, a riddle and a bomb. Of course you came to me. Don't want Edward to catch wind of this if it _is_ his doing. It's _cheating_.' Dead Switch mused with a heartless laugh. 'I could get into _trouble_.' Batman hated that tone of voice - she was turning things over in her mind, looking for the angles. She was enjoying the challenge. 'We could have done this beforehand. That's what you're thinking, isn't it? But there's been no hint of it. Edward is a spectacular spoiler-whore and I'm not senile. It's definitely our M.O. but I'm telling you - we had nothing to do with it.'

She was right. He had thought of it. Riddler was certainly smart enough - as much as he hated to do so - to make it appear as though this wasn't by his hand. He'd done it before and managed to hide it in his carefully chosen phrasing. Dead Switch was liberal with the truth at the best of times.

'Would this have something to do with Two-Face and Penguin, I wonder?' Dead Switch's eyes flashed to him in thought. What did Dent and Cobblepot have to do with this? A new expression broke across her face, as though the clouds had parted suddenly. What had she connected? What did she know? Hear?

'What do you know, Dead Switch?' Batman growled.

Her eyes slid to him and she crumpled the photocopy. 'Sorry, Bats. Can't help you.'

'Can't or won't?' He demanded.

'Both.' She laughed. After that, she stalled all his attempts to pry what she knew out of her. He wasted a further five minutes trying. Plenty of time around Nigma and psychologists had only honed her corkscrew logic.

He left Arkham Asylum without his new information. He had precious little time as it was. He knew the answer to the riddle as he knew she did. He drove away and brooded on the revelation she'd refused to share with him and resolved that he would have to wait for the other shoe to drop - the next clue.

* * *

A/N: Welcome to my new pet project. We're not going to torture Edward for this series. We're going to make Batman's life a misery this time because I am horrible. Enjoy the spectacle.


	51. Aper pt 2

Part 2

He sat and stared at the mugshots on the BatComputer in thought. One, an auburn-haired smirking genius - the other a scowling blonde follower. Riddler and Dead Switch had escaped Arkham Asylum hours after he'd talked with Scott. That couldn't be coincidence. Scott had a broken arm, Nigma had stitches to his face and extensive bruising. Whatever they knew that he didn't - it had been enough to force them to move immediately rather than wait for their injuries to heal.

'No sign, master Bruce?' Alfred asked as he pushed a tray of tea to his elbow.

'No,' He brooded. 'They know something Alfred, but Dead Switch wouldn't tell me.'

The butler picked up the silver teapot and began to pour a generous amount of tea into a cup. 'If I may, sir, the people you deal with are generally untrustworthy. Perhaps Ms Scott and Mr Nigma had indeed made contingency plans.' He suggested.

He remembered the look in Scott's eye. As though the riddle had made some kind of sense to her. The way she'd become defensive and obstructive when he'd probed. _What time is spelled the same forwards and backwards?_ Bruce brooded on the answer: _Noon_. Which noon? It was a safe bet that it was in this timezone. Noon today? It had been and gone without apparent interest. 'It's more than that Alfred - it's -' He paused as an alert caught his attention. Riddler's social media account was active. A new update had been posted. A video.

Warily, he pressed play and was greeted by Edward Nigma himself. In the harsh light they were using, he could see the bruising along The Riddler's jaw from their fight hours ago. He wasn't using his voice modulator this time, which was a small mercy. That thing gave Bruce a headache. 'Welcome back, enthusiasts. It's time for another update. The King of Conundrums has an interesting case for you all today - _when is a cat not a cat_?' He smirked smugly into the camera, despite the stitches in his lip. 'When it's a _copy_ cat of course.'

Bruce did not like where this was going - he could tell. 'Computer, start tracing the IP address.' It was a long shot, but the two of them would have hardly had any time to properly hide themselves digitally. Riddler had done this sort of thing before - recorded and released his sick and twisted games, usually with traps but this didn't look like a riddle room. The video went on as the computer searched in the background.

'I'm afraid today there won't be any interesting riddle rooms. No, I have something a little more low-brow. Unfortunate, but you could say that this is _well_ deserved. I hope you're watching, Batman.'

Oh he was. Where was this? It looked like a standard room. Wallpapered walls, university flags? He filed that away for later. 45% trace - 50%. Keep talking Riddler.

'Today's _guest of honour_ is Alistair Hill. You might have heard that his father recently got re-elected as a serving judge at Gotham's courthouse, isn't that right, Mr Hill?'

The courthouse. Another piece of the puzzle, but so far, he didn't understand what connected Riddler, Hill, or the courthouse. He needed more information - but Riddler didn't look like he was going to give him time to gather evidence. The look on Dead Switch's face, the breakout, the swiftness of their actions - Riddler was moving fast. Faster than he'd ever been known to.

'I didn't do anything!' The young man dragged into the camera's view blurted.

'Oh but there's a _lie_. You've been busy, Mr Hill, haven't you?'

Batman's eye flicked to the IP tracer. 75% complete. Almost there. Almost. He just had to hope that whatever Riddler was getting at - and it was sure to be unpleasant - he would keep grandstanding and give him time to get there.

'Please - please Mr Riddler, we didn't - we -' the man - boy, barely an adult - pleaded.

 _We_?

'Oh hush!' Riddler snapped at him. 'You're ruining it.' He turned back to the camera and beamed. 'If you _are_ watching Batman - here's a riddle for you. _What do most people need, but do not have?_ '

Time. The answer was _time_.

95% complete. Come on, Nigma. Talk yourself into a corner.

'I'm afraid you're all out.' The Riddler mocked and the video stopped, but the IP search had been fruitful. 14 Minerva Court. That was judge Hill's address - of course. Riddler was using the boy's own computer to record. It was elegant. Bruce was out of the chair and running for the car the second he saw the results as Alfred watched him go.

With a tut the butler picked up the fine china cup and took a delicate sip. 'This is an unfortunate turn of events.'

* * *

14 Minerva Court was inside a gated community. A large estate house just inside the wall. The house itself was dark when Batman let himself in through a window and activated his torch. Judge Hill and Mrs Hill were on vacation in the Caymans for the rest of the week, celebrating their re-election victory. They'd told plenty of people - including Bruce Wayne - their plans at the celebration party. Their son, Alistair, 19, was home alone on break from school. He'd had a run in with Riddler. Why? How had he gained Riddler's attentions and how had Riddler settled on him?

Batman's first objective was to scour the house for signs of life - hoping he wasn't too late and knowing he was. Riddler was nothing if not methodical. He would _not_ post a video that was traceable without having finished what he'd come to do.

His pessimism was rewarded by a limp arm on the stairs as he scoured. The arm was connected to the body of Alistair Hill. It looked as though he'd been trying to escape, was chased and killed. There were traces of a pink chalky substance under the outstretched fingernails. From a plaster cast, perhaps? The one on Dead Switch's arm, he'd wager.

They'd been here.

He checked for a pulse. None. Still warm, couldn't have been dead more than an hour or two.

There was a door open further down the hall. The main light was off, but there was a desk light casting long shadows out into the hall. That could have provided the harsh light from the video. He moved for the door.

The room seemed to be Alistair's. A bed with flags above it, a visual match to the room in the video, a desk filled with homework - but the wall above the desk was covered in papers. Newspaper clippings, maps, mugshots. All of the same two people. Riddler and Dead Switch.

He didn't have time to study it in detail as another thing immediately grabbed his attention. In front of the collage was a bomb counting down.

 _00:04._

He cursed and rushed out of the room. There was no time for finesse, from the glance he'd gotten at it, there was enough C4 packed into it to obliterate the upper floor of the house. Dead Switch was horribly _precise_ about the nature of her bombs.

 _00:03_

He had no time to study the body further than he already had done, either. Should have known that this would have been an inevitable step in the plan.

 _00:02_

The Riddler was known for his _extreme_ reactions to situations - who, in Gotham's rogues fraternity, wasn't? - but this was different. There wasn't a tangible link between Riddler and Hill except for what was about to go up in smoke. Batman turned with a burst of speed and ran the length of the corridor - towards the window.

 _00:01_

He smashed through the glass and burst out into the night as the bomb detonated behind him, destroying the crime scene, the body, and any clue as to where Nigma was going next. He managed to grapple up the wall, turned, and watched it as it all went up in the flames.

He sat atop the wall as fire trucks raced up the drive, hotly followed by police cruisers. Batman brooded as they began to tackle the fire that had obliterated most of the second floor of the house. Burning bits of paper were falling around him as the fire roared. He snatched a piece out of the air and stared at Edward Nigma's familiar mugshot as it smouldered. That bomb wasn't just there to destroy evidence. If it was, it would have detonated before Batman even got there. No - Nigma was taunting him with answers within his reach before they were snatched away.

 _Why?_

* * *

A/N: Boom de casa! The plot thickens! Okay so last month I went through a "You know what I haven't seen in forever?" phase. I ended up rewatching the entirety of _Batman The Animated Series_ and it still lives up to my childhood memories. This was pretty much inspired by that so if you get a _BTAS_ vibe from Aper, now you know why.

Poor Bruce. No tea for him, no bad guy to beat up and he nearly gets blown sky high. Such is life as Batman.


	52. Pockets

**Pockets**

A/N: I'm becoming extremely busy IRL and in writing. I'm going to be showering another one of my criminal/psychotic favourites with their own 10 chapter story a little like Boss. Eobard Thawne's getting his turn in the spotlight - soon. Aper pt 3 is not quite finished. So have this instead. For Batty, who has faithfully reminded me that Edward used to visit a little place called Pandora's Box. It's a rather niche club - don't make me spell it out for you. He knows the doorman by name. Comic-canon, I can assure you lovely readers. I also tried to keep it entirely SFW but the subject matter dictates at least a passing knowledge of NSFW.

You all know why we settled on this particular fetish. _You know._

* * *

Laundry day was the most hated day of the week for Dead Switch. It wasn't the unimaginable stains on her favourite shirts that were the problem, or the judicious use of hydrogen peroxide she was forced to contend with to make some articles of clothing semi-wearable again, it was The Suits. Edward was fastidious about his suits and had over a dozen in any one location at any given time. He also had high standards when it came to how his suits should be treated - especially when it came to being cleaned. Only the very best for his beloved suits - an upscale laundromat in upper Gotham.

The problem was, he never emptied his pockets - ever. She had learned that fairly early on with a fountain pen and a pack of tissues. Deborah now thoroughly raided his clothing pockets for anything that might be in them before she loaded them into the garment bag for delivery.

Today's haul from a suit she didn't think he'd worn in years was: 1x Rubiks Cube, completed. 1x napkin drawing of a deathtrap with stick-figure Batman yelling for help, 4x question mark paperclips, a dried up fountain-pen and, finally, An aging flyer for something called Pandora's Box (looked like a nightclub of some kind, an awful lot of leather and latex on it) with the other side advertising something called The Foxglove. She wasn't sure how he managed to pick up things like this.

Was that everything? No - she could still feel something hard and lumpy - missed the hidden breast pocket. It wasn't an old phone, was it? He was forever damaging them and just flinging them everywhere.

Her hand sheepishly slid into the silk-lined pocket and fished out the offending object. It was leather, dyed green, and silver plated by the looks of it. A round rubber ball in the middle. For a second, she couldn't work out what she was looking at and then she realised what it was.

The flyer suddenly made a whole lot more sense, now.

She wasn't a kidnapping expert, but she figured that this wasn't for a potential hostage - that was what duct tape was for. This looked... Personal.

Edward's, then. Why would Edward even have something like thi- No. No she wouldn't believe it.

Riddler was a paraphiliac. She smirked ever so slightly as she set it to one side and checked over the rest of the suit. It made sense, when she thought about it. He really liked talking - hearing himself talk. Being in control.

This little Offending Item spoke differently. At least, in one aspect of his lifestyle.

Interesting. What could she do with this information? She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought about disseminating this little tidbit everywhere - Crane would love confirmation - but this was obviously something he felt he needed to hide.

She folded up the suit into the bag and zipped it closed. The rest of the stuff could wait until she got back to sort through - but the leather and rubber thing was going to have to come with her. There was no way she could leave it out for someone to find, she wasn't cruel enough to let other people speculate about his habits - the thugs did so like to talk. It must've been in the suit for a while and was in need of a good clean before she decided on what to do with it.

* * *

'What's all this?' Edward Nigma demanded as he stared at the bounty collected on the kitchen table. 'Oh, I've been looking for that!' A hand reached across and picked up the finished rubik's cube.

'Haul from your suit pockets, boss. Rotating and cleaning them. It's storage 3's turn.' Deborah noted.

'Storage 3. Storage 3…' Edward mused as he expertly rotated the cube. It clattered to the floor as he went white and asked 'The forest green business jacket? Was that in there?'

She looked up at his face and resisted the urge to smirk. 'The one with the silk lined pockets? Yeah.'

He hastily attempted to cover up his panic and coughed. 'Did you empty _all_ the pockets?'

'Why, Edward, of course I did.' She admonished playfully as she began to separate the items.

'Was there anything … unusual?' He asked carefully.

'Mmm, no.' She replied and ignored the way he was watching her. 'There was the cube, a napkin, a pen some paperclips, a leaflet - Oh! Something else. I cleaned it and put it on the bed.'

Edward winced and disappeared. Slow enough not to arouse questions about where the fire was, but quick enough that she could pick up on his urgency.

She smiled to herself as she picked up the leaflet and binned it.

Yeah, the ball-gag was his.


	53. Aper pt 3

**Part 3**

'No luck, master Bruce?' Alfred asked as he poured out another cup of tea.

Bruce was staring at the BatComputer monitor, at the two mug-shots joined by an unflattering college ID photograph. He'd hung around the scene, tried to gather more evidence but it hadn't shed any more light on why Dead Switch had blown apart the second floor of Judge Hill's house, or why Riddler had Alistair Hill killed. He knew now why the video had been _just_ long enough for him to trace - Riddler had wanted him there. Wanted him to see that but be unable to stop it. He brought up the video again and watched it critically as he sipped the tea. There was nothing new there, but he caught the " _We_ " again and felt a thread that was being untugged. He decided to go back to what they'd discovered about the late Younger Hill.

Alistair Hill, the second son of Judge Hamilton Hill, studying at Gotham U on an advanced college course for his desired field of expertise. 'Criminal psychology.' Bruce murmured to himself. The boy had obviously wanted to follow in his father's footsteps in the justice system. Did that account for the bizarre collage of papers on his wall? Why did Hill's younger son have such a _fascination_ with that particular criminal? And why had that criminal gone after him?

 _Why use "We"?_

He brought up the college class records and Alistair's social media. He had expected Riddler to wipe the account - the man was always so keenly aware of the internet at large - but it was still intact and looked as though it hadn't been tampered with. Bruce had to assume at this point that Nigma had left it alone as a clue as to what was to come. He began a systematic search for friends that matched the class roster - the " _we_ " that had been blurted out still rattled around his head was, statistically, more likely to be his friends than anything else.

Three other people were mentioned in Hill's social media posts and photos that also appeared on the class roster for several classes the victim had taken.

Cassandra Wilds, Morgan Templeton, and Victor Blackwall. Photos on social media and college records matched. Riddler hadn't called to gloat about his victory - the game wasn't over just yet. All three of these people could be in danger. 'There's three more possible victims.' He groaned to himself.

'The Batman certainly can't be at three places at once. Might I advise Commissioner Gordon be kept abreast of these developments, master Bruce?' Alfred accepted the teacup he held out and put it down on the tray. 'After all, I'm sure Commissioner Gordon would be more than happy to see Mr Nigma and Ms Scott safely in Arkham again.'

He'd been thinking the same thing. But the thought niggled in the back of his mind - _why these three?_ He felt like he was missing something.

* * *

'We've got Blackwall and Templeton under watch right now, Batman.'

Gordon didn't have to turn around to know who had shut down the signal on the roof of the GCPD. There was only one person brave enough to touch that and that was the person it was calling.

'What about Wilds?' Batman asked.

He watched as Gordon took a breath, steeled for bad news. 'She's not at home or at her dorm. So far, she hasn't turned up. Her roommate says she isn't just one to disappear but she does do quite a lot of circuit training and never takes anything more than a water bottle with her. They're all playing dumb. All of them are claiming they don't know why Riddler and Dead Switch are after them.'

'Have they talked to you about Hill's collage?'

'They're saying that Hill was obsessed with Riddler. Wanted to figure him out. They tried to talk sense into him, but he wanted to learn everything he possibly could and help his father finally nail Riddler and put him back in the asylum.'

'Riddler was in custody.' Batman replied.

'I know, but that hadn't been released just yet. Hell, they hadn't even been charged yet. They were just in Arkham as a preliminary.' Gordon shifted. 'I don't like this, Batman.'

Neither did he. This didn't smell like a case of obsession that had gone awry. This was something more.

'I want to know the second you find her.' He warned Gordon.

'Depends on how we find her.' The commissioner replied ominously. 'You might be seeing her first.'

* * *

With nothing else to do but wait until Wilds reappeared on the radar, Batman went back to the facts.

Someone had planted a bomb and a riddle at the museum - but Nigma and Scott had been in custody hours before it appeared. It certainly _could_ have been them, He'd talked to Scott who had denied their involvement. He knew Riddler would tell half-truths, but Dead Switch would outright lie. Dead Switch had planted a bomb in Judge Hill's house - that much Bruce knew to be true, it was a Dead Switch special. Her brand of very precise destruction. One or both of them had killed Alistair Hill. Chalk under his fingernails. His computer - which they'd used to make the video - had been damaged beyond repair by the explosion. Bruce kept coming back to _why?_

' _Would this have something to do with Two-Face and Penguin, I wonder?'_

Bruce had thought that she'd been implying that they had something to do with the appearance of the riddle and the bomb, but had she meant it in a different way? He brought up the files on Dent and Cobblepot. Two-Face had recently spent a stint in Arkham and Penguin was fighting a court case - of which he was on bail - tooth and nail. Both had been convicted of crimes that they denied involvement in. A robbery of the 22 karat jewellers and an armoured van transporting cash. In both cases, there were no witnesses to identify them, they had been caught by _circumstantial evidence_. Like the riddle and the bomb.

Why plead guilty to some crimes and not others? Cobblepot hadn't contested _murder charges_ in the past. Why robbery?

For the first time, he felt he was getting somewhere. He was close to working out what was going on. Had Alistair Hill been -

Another alert. Disappointedly, it wasn't from the GCPD. It was a Riddler alert. His accounts were active again.

'It's that _time_ again!' He hated Riddler. The bruising looked little better than it had done a few hours ago and Bruce resolved that when he caught up with him, it was going to look like a picnic. Lower in the frame of shot was a dark haired woman in what looked like gym gear. Bruce recognised her from photographs. 'Today we have with us Cassandra Wilds. Say hello, Ms Wilds.'

'When Batman comes to get you I hope he puts the-'

'Ah, but Batman will be too late.' Riddler mocked and turned to the camera. 'I must say, I'm disappointed you haven't figured this out yet, dark knight. Is it too challenging? You're not going senile, are you?'

He would. He'd stop him. They didn't look like they were anywhere he could recognise. Wilds was bound to a chair and against a sheeted backdrop. Hardly anything to work with in regards to location. There was something, though. The sounds of … birds.

'Did you like my little surprise? I hope so. Dead Switch put a lot of effort into it, considering she only has _one working arm!_ ' He hissed but then brightened. 'Any last words, Ms Wilds? Something to confess?'

 _Confess?_

'You freaks-'

'Sadly, seemingly, silence.' Riddler mocked and stuffed a green handkerchief into her mouth. 'Much better!' He smiled agreeably as she choked on the cloth. The birds began to call again, almost drowned out by the furious choking.

Bruce knew the sounds of those birds. They were familiar but he couldn't work out why. The cry was distinctive.

'So, Dark Knight, riddle me this. My road is metal, my heart is fire. Feed me, or I cannot move. What am I?'

A train. An old train.

The railway museum? The railway museum didn't have birds.

'Goodbye for now, Dark Knight.' Nigma signed off.

Bruce brooded long after the video had ended. It was clear that Riddler was not at the museum but he had alluded to it. While Wilds was alive in the video, there was no time-stamp or reliable way of judging when it had been recorded. More than likely, Cassandra Wilds was already dead. Resigned, he sat back and said 'Computer, phone Gordon.'

'Gordon here.' The Commissioner's voice boomed around the cave and upset the bats.

'Commissioner. I need your men to sweep the railway museum.'

'Yeah, we saw the video too.' Gordon's voice became gruffer. 'We're coordinating uniforms now. You don't think -'

'I think that's where we're going to find Cassandra Wilds. I don't think she'll be alive.' He sighed heavily. 'Riddler doesn't seem to want hostages.'

'Why?' Gordon demanded. 'First Hill, now Wilds. Why is he killing these kids?'

'I intend to find out.' Bruce promised and disconnected. He pulled the cowl over his head and ran the video through an ornithological database. The bird calls came back as a Kagu - a highly rare and endangered bird. Flightless - and a breeding pair were stolen from the Gotham Zoo a year ago. Rumour was they'd gone into the hands of a collector. A collector like Penguin.

Something was going on with Riddler. It had something to do with Two-Face and Penguin. It was time to pay a visit to Oswald Cobblepot.

* * *

Part 3 is a little choppier than my usual affairs. Aper came to be thanks in part to the comics and in part to BTAS (again). I can write Edward in my sleep but Bats is actually genuinely harder! Bonus points if you name the game universe the friend's names are taken from. Eobard's story is coming along. Look out for #TeamFlashSucks coming soon!*

 _*#TeamFlashSucks released sometime between now and 6 months time. Do not ingest. If ingested, please seek medical treatment or a cool supervillain team of your choice._ _May cause mild bouts of megalomania, psychosis, and bad fashion choices. You may also experience a vibrating fist through your chest/being hunted by inter-dimensional speedsters. #TeamFlashSucks is incompatible with life insurance or life in general._


	54. Aper part 4

**Part 4**

Oswald Cobblepot's office was like a shrine to birds. Even the pens on his desk had jolly, frolicking penguins on them. Oswald liked the frolicking penguins - helped keep his blood-pressure down while some idiot was begging for his miserable life.

He sipped from his WORLDS BEST BOSS mug and set it down on a peacock coaster as he scribbled figures into a ledger. It was quiet except for the cries of the Kagu downstairs.

'Penguin.' The pen stopped and he looked up, across his office. There, in a shadow by the door, was a familiar and unwanted figure. Nothing was disturbed, nor had he noticed anything amiss. What was he paying these people for? It clearly wasn't security to keep riff-raff like this out! He reached under the desk for one of his patented trick umbrellas but paused as the shadow growled 'Don't try me, tonight.'

'Batman.' He was trying for even, it came out angry.

'Where's Riddler?'

'How the hell should I know?' He bit back as he reached for the umbrella again. A batarang bit into the wood of his desk in warning. 'Oi! This is an expensive desk, freak!'

'Then tell me where Riddler is.'

'I told you I haven't got the faintest. Now buzz off!' One of the frolicking penguin pens flew the length of the office and fell just short of hitting it's target.

Batman stared at it for a second before he looked up and began advancing towards the desk. 'I know he was in one of your buildings, Cobblepot. The Kagu you bought off the black market gave that away. Tell me.'

Oswald's fingers finally found the handle of his umbrella and pulled it out as Batman reached the other end of the desk. 'Get the hell out of my office!' He bit as the umbrella pointed itself at the winged menace's throat.

'Why are you contesting the theft charge on the armoured van, Cobblepot?' The winged menace growled.

He clearly wasn't about to leave without having at least one question answered. Oswald's blood-pressure was demanding that he left _right now_ before his heart went on strike. Sneaking into people's offices and threatening them while they were doing paperwork and all, the bloody cheek. 'Because I didn't do it you insufferable Chiroptera.' Oswald spat. 'If you must know, I was doing business in Crime Alley at the time.'

'Just because you were in Crime Alley doesn't mean you couldn't have ordered it to be done.'

'And what would I get?' Oswald asked. 'A few hundred thousand in cash? The notes are all sequential. Easy to trace. Why the hell would I want that?'

The Dark Knight paused as he digested that. 'You weren't involved?'

'I'm smarter than that!' Oswald spat. 'Something like that is _amateur_.'

There was silence for a few seconds before Batman growled 'Return the birds to the zoo, Cobblepot.'

In Hell. They were his. He paid good money for them. 'Get out.' Oswald snarled. 'Before I start yelling.'

The Bat melted into the shadows and disappeared. Oswald grumbled to himself and sipped from his mug. The umbrella came up suddenly as the door opened and a cowed looking thug eased his head around the door. 'Boss were you talking to someone?'

The umbrella came down. 'Mr Jeffries. Do me a favour and send a message to The Riddler, wouldja? Tell him Batman's been by like he said he would be.' The thug nodded feverishly. 'Who's in charge of security today?' Oswald demanded.

'Dave.' Jeffries said quietly.

'Get rid of him. Make it painful.'

* * *

They found her two hours after the video - while Batman was interrogating Cobblepot. She was tucked away in the railway museum, as he'd suspected. She was also dead. The patrolmen would swear on their lives that they had been sweeping the museum continuously. They'd either missed her or - more likely - Riddler had somehow managed to sneak her past two dozen of the GCPD's finest.

There was no definitive sign of murder on the corpse. No defensive wounds, no stab marks, no signs of trauma at all - and yet she was still dead.

Above her corpse, the answer to the earlier riddle from the museum. He recognised Riddler's rounded handwriting and felt something wrong with the entire scenario. Riddler never answered his own riddles - at least not this publically. What had changed, here?

Bruce stared at the body and felt guilt for not saving her. For directing all his time to trying to find and stop Nigma and Scott. Perhaps if he'd studied the video a little longer - probed a little deeper- maybe he could have - No. He knew there was nothing more in that video. Nigma was too smart to let slip his plans before they were ready. He couldn't have saved Hill, he couldn't have saved Wilds. Templeton and Blackwall were secure. Gordon had people watching them. Riddler was going to have a hard time getting to them.

 _But if he can sneak a corpse into a net of cops, what's to say he couldn't do the opposite?_

'Batman.'

He turned to look at Jim and noticed the tense lines of his face, the way his fingers moved as though they were fondling a cigarette. 'Jim, what's wrong?'

'It's Two-Face.'

'Where?' He demanded and tried to keep the anger from his voice. First Penguin, now Dent.

'He's taken over the courthouse. Batman - Judge Hill is there. He was notifying the county of his son's death.' Gordon sighed heavily. 'The poor man. First his son, now this?'

That couldn't be coincidence. More than likely, Riddler had a hand in this as well. 'I'll stop it.' He agreed and walked away as Gordon watched the morgue technicians haul the body-bag onto the gurney for transport. There was little else that he could do for Cassandra Wilds.

* * *

A/N: I'll be honest. I had _far_ too much fun writing Cobblepot. Batman's bad night continues. Two down, two to go! C'mon Bats old boy, save at least one of them!


	55. Illness Redux

**Illness redux**

The Riddler was raging. Not an unusual occurrence for Edward Nigma. He'd gathered his band of idiots to listen to him rant and issue orders. Even by his standards, this was a long, drawn-out tantrum of epic proportions.

'The _incompetence_ of you idiots _astounds_ me!' Edward Nigma raged. ' _How_ Dead Switch hasn't shot the lot of you by now is, frankly, a mystery to even me! You can't go five minutes without someone holding your hand! It was a _simple_ task - I, _myself_ , planned it out. It should have been idiot-proof but I've underestimated the amount of _idiocy_ in the room, haven't I?! I should put you all in a riddle room and-' He paused as a figure approached the door. There wasn't much that could stop Riddler mid-rant, but this managed it. 'Deborah, what are you doing up?'

Dead Switch - the boss-lady - looked like death. Pale and sweaty and in pyjamas that were decorated with little puppies. She was clutching a large mixing bowl for dear life and was actively swaying. 'I heard yelling.' She muttered damply. 'What's going on?'

'Oh, nothing. Go back to bed before you throw up on a useless cretin.'

'Edward.'

'The useless neanderthals I employ need some lessons in what I expect from them.' He replied quietly. 'I can handle it.' He glanced from her to the assembled, terrified men that were looking anywhere than at their boss-lady and then back. Edward cleared his throat. 'How are you feeling?'

'Like burning Bamboo Express and their god awful shrimp to the ground.' She replied and greened just a little.

'I told you that eating it was inadvisable.' He sighed. 'Go back to bed. Try to keep down some water.'

She nodded absently and shuffled out of sight. Mannie and Zowie were smart enough to keep their mouths shut but Dave was not such an intellect. 'Hey, boss, what's up with the boss-lady?'

The other men winced as Edward turned to glare at Dave in fury. 'She's sick, David. Isn't that obvious? Food poisoning.'

Mannie hastily raised his hand in an effort to save his stupid colleague. 'Uh, boss, I know a way we can make it up to you and make the boss-lady feel better.'

'I'm not in the mood for entertaining yet more stupidity, Mannie.' Edward replied.

'We can torch Bamboo Express for Dead Switch, boss.'

'Are you genuinely stupid, Mannie?'

'Uh, maybe boss?'

That did not meet with Riddler's approval. 'Of _course_ you are. If you'd have thought for more than a second you'd have considered that she would like to personally attend to the matter.' Edward snarled.

'How d'you know that, boss?' Dave (suicidal idiot) asked.

Edward was about to reply when the news channel that ran in the background suddenly changed to the scene of a fire. At Bamboo Express. Heads turned - Edward's included - to watch, silently.

'I am an incredibly smart man.' He grit. He would never understand how she managed it, but he would concede he was just a _little_ impressed.

* * *

A/N: Have a short piece since Aper chapter 5 is being stubborn. Another other side of the coin chapter. Edward thought about asking her _how_ but she would probably deny all knowledge of what he was talking about.


	56. Coffee Break

**Coffee Break**

The asylum courtyard was a warzone. The corridors were filled with blood. A single stolen radio sat on the beautifully carved desk and crackled as panicked begging, demands, and orders emanated from it. Every area of Arkham was alive with malice, tonight.

Beyond the desk, blood marred the old carpeting.

Above the asylum, a Bat-Signal illuminated the night sky.

Below that, The Batman fought to contain the mass-breakout.

'Ten Dollars for Ivy to get first blood.'

'Even I wouldn't take that bet. You're probably right. Those thorny vines of hers are quite sharp.' The Riddler sipped his coffee, content to watch the malcontents struggle for freedom, and blanched at the sheer awfulness of the brew. 'The man runs a government institution and cannot even find good coffee for himself? Disgraceful.'

'The tea isn't so bad.' Dead Switch mused from beside him and watched the spectacle from one of Arkham's iconic large windows. The silence in the director's office was cozy, almost familiar - despite the terrified radio chatter and the body behind the desk. There was almost always someone stupid enough to accept the dubious position of Director of Arkham Asylum. They almost always ended up like the most recent incumbent.

There was no real rush or urgency to escape, right now. The two of them were happy to sit back, away from any other inmates, and wait for the rush and the chaos to reach it's peak. For Batman to be distracted and overwhelmed. While they waited, they indulged themselves of the recently deceased director's amenities.

'I'd give this riot a 6 out of 10.' Dead Switch sipped her tea. 'There's just something missing.'

'Jonathan's skipped out early.' Edward replied. 'No fearful hallucinations - at least tonight. I understand he's not the only one. Pamela is making a show of it simply because Batman accidentally killed her plants the last they met and she's still angry over it.'

Deborah Scott chuckled to herself. 'So, what exit are we using today?'

'Jonathan exited via the storm tunnels in the west wing. He's probably laid traps just in case Batman decides to follow. We'll use one of the hidden exits that Amadeus was always _fond of_. Perhaps the one in the abandoned cell block. It's hazardous enough that it's generally left alone.'

Dead Switch's tilt of the head indicated her willingness to accept that. They watched the battle royale with casual disinterest from their vantage point.

'Anything we need to pick up on the way?'

'Aside from our things, the useless morons should have begun to prepare.' Edward sipped the coffee and settled against the wall on the other side of the window.

'I thought you hated the coffee?'

'It's still coffee.' He replied and laughed as Batman was thrown the length of the courtyard. 'Riddle me this, what goes up and must come down?'

'Easy,' Deborah Scott smirked. 'It's Batman.'

* * *

A/N: So this hit me over the head and wouldn't let go. I have a policy of toying with ideas for months, getting it right in my head before the difficulties of writing it down screws everything up - Like Aper. I swear, the next chapter is almost ready to go - but this barged in and refused to leave.

This is one of those rare moments where nothing has happened to them and everything goes according to plan, so - of course - they indulge it as much as humanly possible. I also imagine the coffee at Arkham, much like the food, is literal garbage. It's worse than the swill the GCPD choke down. That's why Dead Switch chose tea. Nobody should be forced to taste that.


	57. Aper part 5

**Part 5**

The Gotham City courthouse had been destroyed and rebuilt so many times that the building usually had no time to lose that new paint smell before something happened. It was a permanent fixture to the site, Bruce was sure. He - his public persona - had paid for several of the rebuilds in the past and had snuck several _useful_ system upgrades into it while he did. Designed to integrate with his suit and give him accurate, real-time information.

It was too quiet. He found the reason when he scanned the building. The most heat signatures were gathered in the main courtroom.

What was Two-Face's game, here?

This was a set-up, undoubtedly. What he wanted to know, was why. Why now?

He found a perch higher up to assess the situation. The suit automatically picked out Judge Hill, tied to the defendant's podium. His heart rate and respiration were fast and distressed, but otherwise unharmed. Sitting in the judge's podium was a former friend turned criminal. Harvey Dent, also known as Two Face was waving the gavel in one hand and a pistol in the other. Hostages were cowering in the jury box as thugs prowled.

The suit picked up the conversation happening below. '- I - I see a lot of cases, Mr Dent-'

'It's Two-Face!' The rogue snarled and flipped the gavel in his hand before he pointed it at Hill, who looked like he was about to faint. 'We may not be the DA anymore, but we know when a conviction is unsafe!'

'Mr Two-Face, you could always appeal your -'

'Appeal? We used to laugh at appeals!' Dent snarled.

Bruce was going to assume that this was over the jewellery store conviction. Harvey was displaying his unhappiness at being convicted of something he'd claimed he - like Cobblepot and Nigma - had never done. At the time, reading up on the report, Bruce hadn't taken too much notice of the name of the judge. Alistair Hill hadn't been killed yet, nor had he realised the connection between Riddler, Penguin, and Two-Face - but Hill _had_ been the one to pass sentencing for Harvey Dent's alleged attack on the jewellery store.

This was Two-Face's revenge.

The gavel came down as Batman watched. Several people trapped in the juror stands winced and cowered as Dent yelled 'Alright, court is now in session!'

One of the thugs discharged their gun into the ceiling and yelled 'That means stop snivelling!'

Dent paused and pulled out his infamous coin. With an easy flip he caught the coin, stared at the result. He pointed the revolver at the thug and shot him shortly after. Several people screamed as blood began soaking into the carpet. 'Anyone else?' He growled. There was silence.

Bruce had to put a stop to this. Hill wouldn't get a fair trial, that wasn't the point. Dent was pointing the gun at Hill and pulling back the hammer. 'The people of the court find you guilty of corruption. The sentence -'

A batarang against his wrist forced Two-Face to drop the gun. 'Not today, Dent.'

'Batman.' Two-Face didn't look surprised to see him, that worried him. 'What are you idiots waiting for? Pass judgement!' Dent snarled.

Damn. The thugs weren't just pointing their guns at Hill - they were pointing them at the hostages in the juror's stand as well. Time to do something he hadn't intended on doing. He pressed a button hidden in the inside of one of his gauntlets.

Everything electrical in the courthouse was instantly shorted out by a controlled emp surge. Bruce's suit was specially lined to protect him against the effects, but hundreds of pending cases and files lodged in the hard drives and phones inside the building were likely to be destroyed. As well as the brand new LED lightbulbs in every room. The fried bulbs plunged the courtroom into darkness and the suit, saved from the effects by a prototype faraday cage built into the lining, instantly switched to night-vision mode.

Batarangs flew at the thugs as Bruce, not even slowing, threw himself into taking down the ones with guns. They were hardly difficult. Once they were dealt with, he turned his attention to the judge's podium but Two-Face was gone.

 _No_. He wasn't getting away. Not after this.

He burst into the dressing rooms that were at the back of the courthouse and dodged the first shot that had been waiting for him. Harvey had expected him to chase and had chosen to try and ambush, rather than outrun.

Bruce tackled him to the floor - Two Face wasn't giving up his guns without a fight, which was just as well, because Bruce was done playing. They struggled but eventually Bruce succeeded in prying the guns out of his hands. After that - it was down to bare knuckle fighting and someone like Harvey, they were always going to push back. Bruce didn't want to hurt him too much. He wanted his questions answered, after all. Starting with: 'What was the point in this, Dent?' He raged.

'Revenge!' Harvey spat. 'Justice!'

'Right here? Right now?!' Bruce snarled. 'Start telling me the truth!'

Dent smiled grimly. One corner of his mouth came up, the other turned down. 'Divide and conquer, Batman.'

Divide and-

This was a set-up from the start. This was a _distraction_. Bruce let go suddenly as the reality hit him. Nigma had let Dent loose on the courthouse on purpose - hoping to lure police and Batman to him.

Riddler was still going after the other people on his "list".

'You're too late to stop this happening.' Dent snarled smugly. 'Even you can't stop this.'

In retaliation, Bruce punched hard enough that he knocked Two-Face out and handcuffed both arms to a decorative brass railing. 'I need a line to Gordon. _**Now**_ **.** ' He snapped into his earpiece.

'Is everything alright, Master Bruce?' Alfred sounded concerned.

'Two-Face was a distraction. Nigma's going after the two remaining friends. I need you to warn Gordon, I'm going to the safe-house. Tell him to send units to pick up Dent, as well.'

The safehouse was empty.

He knew it would have been. Nigma's distraction was too good for him - for the GCPD, too - to resist.

Minimal security around the last two people who knew what was going on besides Riddler.

No sign of a struggle, not a thing out of place - at first glance, anyway. There would be something. Nigma couldn't resist an opportunity to show off his intellect - to test how smart everyone else actually was. He never could.

'What a mess this is turning out to be.' Gordon sighed from the doorway, 'Why did I ever decide to give up smoking?'

Because Barbara worried about him, far more than he actually realised. 'Is there any new activity on Riddler?'

'No videos, no riddles, nothing.' Gordon replied.

'They're not dead yet, then.' Bruce surmised. He had a chance - a chance to actually save them. If Nigma intended to kill them immediately, he'd be gloating by now. 'How did it happen?'

'Nearest we can tell,' Gordon sighed. 'Pizza delivery. Nobody'd come to relieve the officers on watch - everyone available was down at the courthouse - and when someone came to the door with pizza, they jumped at the chance. The watch officers're in the bathroom. Dead.'

'Pizza delivery?' Batman mused. 'That's almost cliche.'

'Probably why Nigma went for it.' The commissioner replied. 'Dumb cops being played by the oldest trick in the book.' Gordon mumbled to himself angrily.

'He attended personally?' Bruce asked.

'God no,' Gordon snorted. 'We have video feed from the hallway. Smaller than Nigma. Blonde hair. Seemed to favour one arm over the other.'

'Dead Switch.' Bruce growled lowly, his eyes scanned the room. It was awfully …. Intact … for having been visited by her. Surreptitiously, he switched to a filter that isolated bomb traces. Fingerprints, handprints - they all lit up in shades of yellow. Dead Switch had done a lot of touching in this room.

'Yeah.' Gordon nodded. 'We're lucky the room's intact.'

Looking for something, perhaps? _Planting_ something, perhaps? There was no sign of anything larger than a trace in here. No sign of a bomb like at the Hill house. Seemed Nigma had no plans on destroying this evidence.

'I'm sorry about your officers.' Bruce replied once Gordon had finished cursing Gotham's rogues in general - Nigma and Scott specifically - to hell.

'Yeah. Me too.'

Bruce finally noted something that he should have picked up on immediately. The handprints were far too large for a woman - especially someone as petite as Dead Switch. He approached the coffee-table and ran his fingers down an almost intact yellow handprint.

'What is it?' Gordon asked from the doorway.

The suit scanned the substance on his fingers. The closest match would be … fireworks.

That confirmed what Bruce had noticed seconds earlier. Riddler had access to the _finest_ explosives on the market. C4, Semtex, OKFOL - anything his demented terrorist wanted or needed. In fact, Bruce would wager that she'd be _insulted_ if presented with the idea of a bomb made out of fireworks. These were not her handprints.

With that in mind, there were very few actual hand or fingerprints that he could attribute as being small enough to be hers. One quick test later and it was confirmed. The smaller fingerprints had a light dusting of Composition H6. Nothing like the dusting of firework powder on the other handprints. H6 was high grade, difficult to come by unless you knew the right circles. The fireworks were by and far easier to obtain by someone inexperienced in explosive armaments. The larger, firework infused handprints were also older. More degraded than hers.

It was looking more and more like Riddler and Dead Switch had nothing to do with the incident at the museum. Someone in this room had been playing with low-grade explosives none too long ago, and it hadn't been Dead Switch.

But he still had two missing kids to find before Riddler murdered them. He had his suspicions, now it was time for answers.

'I need to have another chat with Penguin.' Bruce growled lowly.

* * *

A/N: It's finally finished! Maybe. Hopefully. I'm going from "It's perfect!" To "Oh my god this is garbage!" Is it really that time, already? Cool. I'll be in the corner with a bottle of wine, send me some love!

Onto the chapter: Ah, Two-Face. He's a deceptive character to write. I had nowhere near the ease I had with Penguin. But he was fun. Readers, you have _no idea_ how much persuasion it took for Deborah to cash in her dignity and do the whole "Pizza delivery!" ploy. It took the limit of Edward's persuasion, then threats, then bribery with more high-grade explosives and promises of projects. She cut off the cast, too. He was seething about chalk-dust everywhere.

And Bats. Bats is only just coming to the conclusion that Dead Switch was actually _telling the truth_. Yes, people, she actually can.


	58. What I Fear

**What I fear** _ **.**_

Alternative title: Wanna know how I got this scar? Don't let Joker play with your toys, kiddos. He breaks 'em. This is how Dead Switch earned her scar mentioned in Chapter 1 (and a really bad case of Coulrophobia. But that's like earning your Gotham stripes) and why she hates the name Debbie. Also: Picture a howling, indignant (slightly-nasally and pretentious) voice screaming from inside Arkham Asylum ' _HE DID_ _ **WHAT?!**_ ' Poor Edward.

 **Danni:** Riddler experiencing love is equal parts hilarious and horrifying, so I'm glad you're enjoying the show! Indeed, all in good time, if Dead Switch would stop being difficult, at least! I'm so glad you enjoy my little terrorist and her annoying and showboating boss/boyfriend! Thanks for catching up!

Another one-shot to break up the chapters, its been busy and McStaken hasn't had a lot of time to work on Boss but I couldn't stop picking at why Dead Switch hates Joker. Enjoy her torment!

* * *

If there was one thing Riddler was known for, besides being pedantic and annoying, it was that he could get anything you'd readily want. Information, weapons, gadgets - he had the network to get anything. It was just sitting there, unused for most of the time while he spent a holiday in Arkham. He was never one to meet with his suppliers anyway. It was always a representative.

Always Dead Switch.

When you wanted something that the mob or smugglers couldn't get - you went to her. It was a good side-business, really. Kept the lights on, replaced anything that may have … blown up. Nothing expensive! Mostly. Paid for the thugs and the ungodly amount of take-out.

'Mr. White?'

She'd consider business with anyone. Allegiances and friendships changed so often in Gotham. Most people used fake names, cool. It wasn't like Dead Switch was her real name, either.

The former dance school was empty. She knew this was the right meeting place, she'd double-checked with a few hacked satellites. This was the right place.

A thousand reflections of her moved as she entered the practice hall. The duffle bag was heavy and this place gave her an uncomfortable feeling of not belonging. She never was a good dancer. Miss Prism's dance academy - It used to be where the Gotham corps de ballet would practice. Shut down last year after Joker made them dance until their feet bled and they collapsed from exhaustion. Then he'd gassed them to die laughing. She and Edward had taken bets on how long it would take. For them to die, for Batman to save what was left. For how many teeth Joker was going to lose this time. Money was made, money was lost.

Deborah moved on, further into the building and into the warren of store rooms, dressing rooms, dead end hallways. Where was her client, exactly? They'd paid a lot of money for some high end stuff. If this was a setup she swore to god that Gordon would regret it -

'Draw!'

She turned at the sound of a voice and met a boxing glove on a spring coming the other way. It hit - hard. Felt like it had been filled with cement. The bag dropped to the floor with a metal _clin-k_.

She swayed for a moment, and then gingerly reached up to touch her nose. It was bleeding freely into her lip. Her head felt …. Rattled. Of all the things she expected this was - was not even close. Who - _what_ \- had just hit her?

'You're not very good at this, are you? That's okay, neither am I!'

She looked up in time to see another one coming at her. There was no time to move. This time, there was a small mercy. She didn't remember very much after it landed.

* * *

Joker bounded over. 'What have we here, hmmm? Eddie's new toy.' He cackled and reached out to twist her head, get a better look at her. The blood that was free flowing from her nose was following her lip and trickling past the crease of her mouth, giving her an eerie one-sided bloody grin. He rather liked it.

Eddie did so hate when Joker played with his toys but he'd done worse. A switchblade appeared in his hand almost instantly and Joker giggled to himself. 'Lets put a smile back on your face, eh?' It was the least he could do for thinking she was Batsy. She'd brought all his lovely new toys, too.

But - no. He couldn't do it like this. It was all wrong. Bad showmanship - after all, you needed to give your audience clues about your act and you can't do that if your audience is currently out like a light.

Hm.

He dragged an old office chair out of one of the decayed rooms and hauled his new guest into it. Hardly had any weight to her, really. Light as a feather. Tut, tut. Eddie never takes care of his toys. Well, Joker knew how to treat toys.

She was coming around as he put the last knot in place - swearing and slurring. Was his love-tap that hard? Heh. 'Welcome back, Twitchy Switchy. Just in time for the show!'

'Sh-ow?' Her head came up slowly and gave him a perfect view of her one sided bloody grin. It was - it was wrong on just one side. More like a half-grin. Like she was smirking.

No, no, no. That wouldn't do. He'd even it out - it'd look lovely.

'You're early. Punctuality will be the death of you!' He cackled and then bounded back with a proud, smug grin. 'But you brought my lovely toys! _Thanks_ , punkin.'

At first, like always, she seemed confused about the situation. Did the glove hit that hard? Well, they all said he had a mean left hook. She tested the restraints but Joker knew how to keep people in their seats. 'You're-?'

Joker rolled his eyes and erupted into a fit of giggles. 'And Eddie says he has the cream of the crop.'

She frowned, as though she were trying to think - but finally looked up and spotted the knife in his hand. 'No - No don't-' She croaked.

'Oh this? I know what you're thinking. Is it going to hurt? I gotta tell you, Debbie, It's going to be _excruciating_! I should know!' He broke away in a fit of cackles.

'Riddler-' She slurred out against the blood in her nose and mouth as he moved closer with jerks and pauses. He was still occasionally giggling and testing the blade as he moved.

'Eddie-boy's in Arkham. What he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?' The knife waved airily in front of her face.

'Please - I got what you wanted!' She pleaded and rocked the chair, her head and back arched away from the blade as it approached.

'Those? I do appreciate it, I'm a little short on change, though.' He patted himself down expertly and shrugged with a smile. 'I guess I'll just have to _tip_ you.' As he said that the very tip of the knife was poked into her nose.

'Free! They're free!' Hands were twisting in the restraints, trying to loosen the knots.

'You know, I don't believe you but that's okay! We're still friends.' Joker cackled as the knife traced an outline across her cheek. She flinched back as a thin bloody line began to appear. 'We _are_ still friends, aren't we twitchy?'

Two terrified eyes glanced from the knife to him, begging mutely for him not to do this. Not now, not to her.

It was hilarious.

'Yes?' She croaked.

'Oh goodie!' Joker simpered. The knife pierced skin.

* * *

Pain. Ungodly amounts of pain. It wasn't like bones breaking, they were sharp at first but faded to a dull, never-ending ache. This was all sharp and all-encompassing. The physical pain locked up her muscles. Hands dropped from the knots that kept her in the chair and balled into fists as she screamed.

Joker's cackles mixed with the shrieking and the blood - it was all she could smell, all she could taste. Red was all she could see as the knife was freed from her skin - glinting, dripping red - her red. Her _blood_. Mixed in with that - the laughter.

'So much better! You're smiling, Debbie!'

She whimpered as Joker produced a mirror like a magician pulling out a bouquet of flowers. Her whole lower jaw was red with blood. Skin flapped loosely between bloodstained teeth.

Her _face_. Oh god her face -

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't - choked on her own bloody spit as she tried to catch her breath and the coughs were excruciating. The clown cackled at her obvious distress.

'Don't like it, Switchy? Oh, that's cause we're only half-done-' Joker paused at the sounds of smashing glass overheard. The mirror vanished as she choked on her own blood and hyperventilated. 'Ah, we're out of time.' He grinned broadly and winked. 'I do hope Batsy likes his present!' Joker grabbed the bag she'd brought and leaned down to whisper into her ear as things began to get fuzzy. She could barely hear him over her panicked breaths 'Tell Eddie I said hi, and, uh, thanks for the toys, Twitchy-Switchy.'

Can't breathe - can't breathe - so much pain. God the pain -

She could feel blood trickling down her chin, being soaked up by her shirt.

She wasn't aware, at first, of his presence until she caught the swishing cape and heard her name. 'Dead Switch.'

Batman?

He seemed to be talking to someone. Hard to concentrate… Hard to pull back into the here and now. She heard the word ambulance - felt pressure on her face and tried to pull away from the pain. The pain brought her back to consciousness and awareness.

'-Likely Joker's done this to give himself time to escape. It's possible couriering something to him. Riddler's in Arkham, he's not involved.' He _was_ talking to someone. Who? 'What did you give him, Dead Switch?'

She felt nauseous and light-headed as she looked up into Batman's mask. She must've looked an impressive mess because she could swear, even after her head had taken a few knocks, and she'd spilled some blood, that underneath the greasepaint and the kevlar - Batman looked worried.

'Scott!'

'Bombs.' She croaked and began a choking, feeble little laugh. It made the skin on her cheek wobble, which just upset her more. 'He said he wanted bombs!'

Batman backed away as the echoes of sirens bounced around the empty building. He looked from her mangled form to the door he'd come through and then towards the one that Joker had taken.

The next thing she remembered, paramedics were shining a light in her eyes and murmuring to each other. There was no Batman or Joker in sight, but whenever she closed her eyes, Dead Switch could have sworn she could still hear the mad cackling. She wouldn't stop hearing the mad cackling as long as she lived.


	59. Aper pt 6

**Part 6**

The Kagu were chirping as Oswald Cobblepot fussed over their aviary. They were beautiful, rare birds and he looked after his birds far more carefully than his thugs. Muscle was a dime a dozen, but the birds- there were only so many and these two were his. They were crying softly as he adjusted the water dish and stood back to admire them in the ornate and spacious cage. He'd had it specially crafted. It even included a clock on top that chimed the hour.

Suddenly the singing stopped, they spooked and took flight to a higher perch. His knuckles tightened on the umbrella in his fist, head twisting and turning exactly like his specimens. 'Who's there?!' He growled lowly, another hand grabbed the base of the umbrella and pumped. There was a deadly little sound of bullets being loaded.

The lights around the warehouse died, which left the lights around the aviary as the only source. Shadows flickered in Oswald's pool of light as the Kagu preened unhappily.

'You lied, Cobblepot.'

Batman.

There was little to no point in Oswald trying to figure out where that was coming from, they had played this game before - but he was poised for a sign of a pair of pointy ears coming at him. 'You can't 'ave my birds!'

'You lied to me. You know where Nigma is and you know what he's planning.'

If Batman was angry before, he sounded apoplectic, now. Good. Damn rat had every reason to be. Oswald had been getting updates - the rodent's little search hadn't gone too well, which he could only assume was the driving force of the rage now being directed at him.

'Why are you helping Riddler?'

Really? He had to ask? Oswald's eyes searched the darkness as he talked. Where was the rodent hiding? The rafters? Behind crates? Keep him talking, maybe Oswald would be able to put a few holes in him. 'Nigma came to me.'

'He came to you for what, Cobblepot?' Batman growled.

'You sound angry. How's Dent doing, Bats?' Oswald laughed darkly. A shadow flickered to his left, Penguin turned and fired but the Bat was already bearing down on him and threw him into the bars of the cage with a hand around his throat.

'How many more people are going to die for this? _Where is Nigma?!_ '

Funtime over. Oswald was smart - anyone less intelligent and ruthless than he was would not have risen to become a crime boss - and he knew which way the wind was blowing right now - more importantly, he knew Nigma's instructions. Specifically the riddle he'd asked him to impart upon their winged friend.

'A stopped clock's right twice a day, Bats.' He replied smugly and watched the dark knight as he froze up for the briefest second.

Above them, the ornate clock trilled midnight.

'The GCPD are on the way to this location, Cobblepot.' Batman answered as a pair of cuffs snaked around one of his wrists. 'You _better_ be in Blackgate when I'm done with Riddler.'

* * *

The fish-eye lens in the Kagu cage captured a lot of what had happened. Oswald was an accomplished actor, Edward would give him that. The man played his role in the grand scheme almost flawlessly. He scratched off the latest event in his mental checklist as the door in front of his many monitors opened and his most useful of useless lackeys slouched in, arm clutched possessively to her as she walked. He looked up from the screens expectantly. 'The pawns have been placed.' She greeted. 'Everything is ready.'

'Indeed?' A smile played around his lips. 'I shall have to check. The countdown has begun, Dead Switch. Our feathered friend, Penguin, has given him all he needs to find us.'

She arched an eyebrow in acceptance of the information. 'I'll inform the idiots of impending doom.'

He laughed. 'Whyever would you do that? I don't pay them to be warned ahead of time I pay them to keep certain people out of my hair for as long as possible.' His eye fell on the cradled, cast-less arm. 'The painkillers won't interfere with your performance this evening, will they?'

'Didn't take them.' She replied. That explained why she was so sensitive about it right now. The arm must be in agony, but she was also highly susceptible to medication. Especially anything that impaired her functionality. It was nice to have confirmation that she wasn't drugged for this, though. Even if he surmised as much beforehand.

Edward Nigma sat back leisurely. 'Make a decent show of it, Deborah?'

'Boss, I'm almost offended you think I won't.' She returned with a smirk of her own.

He laughed as she walked away.

* * *

A/N: I'm drunk and sick of fighting with this chapter. TeamFlashSucks has also stalled. It's official - I've hit another wall of writer's block. Damn.

Usually, I hate releasing chapters that are under 1,000 words. Even during one-shots. That being said, I've wrestled with this for 2 months straight.


	60. Getting a Fix

**Getting a fix**

[Alternately titled: Whovian conversion.]

It was supposed to be an easy job. Edward had _volunteered_ her to fix Scarecrow's pirated satellite TV because _of course he had_. Why do something yourself when you have lackeys for that sort of thing? Of all his moronic workforce, though, Dead Switch was the brightest and the one that followed instruction to the letter - and the least likely of his workforce to get gassed into oblivion which wouldn't be the first time that had happened. So he had volunteered her in lieu of his own services.

She should have known then, when he'd absolutely refused to do it personally.

Because what she'd actually been drafted in to do was fix the cable for Scarecrow's psychotic girlfriend, Richardson. Kitty Richardson was a small, petite, vindictive legend among the Gotham criminal fraternity. She looked like some kind of victim-in-waiting, undoubtedly - but underneath that was a mind as twisted as Crane's ever was and don't _ever_ talk shit about, threaten, or look wrongly at Kitty Richardson because Scarecrow would make you _regret_ it if she hadn't already.

In short: Kitty Richardson scared Dead Switch just as much as Crane ever did.

The latest hideout that Crane had nested in was an apartment in a run-down block in the shadiest part of Crime Alley that Dead Switch had personally ever visited. It was bleak. The metal cables had been stolen from several apartments here some years ago, she'd wager. Which was why the (pirated) cable wasn't working.

Dead Switch trudged up the stairs of the building - because, of course, the elevator wouldn't be working here either - carrying a bundle of wire. She could still taste the dust and smell the rat droppings all over her clothes. She needed a shower just to make sure that the spiders hadn't taken root in her hair or something. After, she could burn her clothes and charge Edward for a new outfit. _Several_ new outfits. She liked these clothes. She would find a way to get Edward back for this. At least now that she'd patched the cabling, there may be a chance of this working and her leaving this place without screaming herself hoarse.

Back inside the apartment, Richardson seemed agitated and Crane was clearly sulking. Great, had she interrupted a domestic, too? _Just_ what she wanted to walk into. 'How long is this going to take?' Crane snapped at her before she'd even dumped the cable.

'Not long.' She reassured him. 'All I need to do is recalibrate the cable box and check everything's working. If there's nothing wrong, you'll be good to go.'

He turned and waved a hand. 'See, Kitty? Plenty of time before your show starts.'

Maybe she'd start her own cable hacking company. Start charging, because the way Crane and Richardson were looking at her, this could end up happening again sometime soon. Crane didn't often like to move his torture cham- his _business_ \- but he would if certain pointy-eared rodents were sniffing. Then the whole cable problem would probably rear it's ugly head again since she was 99% sure that any building in The Narrows had, at one time or another, it's wiring tampered with. They _knew_ that she could fix their problem now. One day soon, maybe, she'd be minding her own business and then suddenly get kidnapped because Crane wanted to watch The Price is Right or something and couldn't spare the extra brain cells to jump through Edward's hoops.

Dead Switch perched carefully on the couch, pulled out the computer satchel she'd brought and set up the laptop to interface with the cable box. With a few keystrokes it began the process of breaking through the network encryption. It wasn't too difficult, especially when linked to Edward's computers.

She took some time to take stock of the place. Crane obviously wasn't conducting his experiments here, there was a general lack of terror and screaming. No, the acquisition of this apartment seemed to be of a more personal nature, rather than business. Crane and Richardson hadn't yet started up their lab again - or maybe this time, Crane had opted to separate his personal and professional lives, somewhat. She knew there was nothing but spiders and dust in the basement - she'd spent some considerable time down there fixing the blasted wiring. Perhaps his setup was in another apartment or another building entirely. Either way, she was not about to pry.

The encryption around the broadcast folded like cheap, wet cardboard against their software and the tv flickered into life, which drew the attentions of everyone. Richardson was suddenly right beside her, flicking through the channels until she found what she wanted. Debs noted that Crane had folded himself in on the other side of her as a somewhat unfamiliar tune began to play. She was sandwiched between the two of them, since this wasn't a large, or comfortable, piece of furniture.

Maybe she should tactfully try and ease out of the situation before something happened. 'Looks good! All fixed. I'll just be goin-'

'Stay right there.' Crane growled.

Okay.

Normally, Dead Switch listened to absolutely no-one (barring Edward, she _generally_ listened to Edward). Crane was not just anyone, he had the power to make her have nightmares so bad, she'd only sleep with the lights on for the next year, easily. That kind of power was something worth listening to. She'd been high on low doses of toxin and hated every second of the paranoid anxiety, hallucination and sheer terror - Did not want to have a full strength dose at all, and Crane could be _very_ liberal about sharing his formula.

'If something goes wrong with this, you will be here to fix it.' He warned her. 'Or you will suffer.'

'Now, drink your tea.' Richardson ordered.

Tea?!

Carefully, she pulled the laptop screen forward and was met with a steaming mug. There were three of them on the slightly scabbed coffee-table. Each one, slightly different. Hers was chipped, but she wasn't going to voice offence. After all, you'd have to be an idiot to ingest anything given to you by Crane and Richardson - then again, they wouldn't poison the person monitoring their cable, right? _Right?!_

She genuinely didn't know. 'Uhhh-'

'Why did you even make three?' Crane demanded over the top of her head at Richardson.

'It's polite!' Richardson replied indignantly. 'The poor dear _is_ fixing the cable for us.'

'You, you mean. You've been in a sour mood ever since you found out the cable doesn't work-'

Help. She was stuck in a domestic between Creepy Crane and Raving Richardson.

'Shh!' Richardson hissed as the pirated broadcast announced very artistically that something called Doctor Who was coming up next.

Was…. was this what they'd wanted her to fix the cable for? Was this the reason for Richardson's agitation and Crane's snappishness? The tea? They were rabid fans of some British show, going without their fix? She was going to have to re-evaluate her initial thoughts on Edward dumping this on her. _He would_ _pay so much more than an outfit for this_.

She was stuck here for at least the next - hour, it looked like, judging by the program length on her laptop - Fantastic. She resisted the urge to text Edward the knife emoji.

'Drink your politely made tea.' Scarecrow ordered.

Crap.

She was just going to have to pray this wasn't poisoned.

Out of a fidgety need to do anything but show just how uncomfortable she was right now, she focused on the laptop and occasionally took minute sips of the tea to satisfy the mad doctor. It didn't _taste_ poisoned. Her eye was drawn constantly to the show playing out and the reactions of the two twisted people either side like a fascinated scholar. Neither the tea, nor the show were exactly terrible, but maybe that was because they were both warm and inviting, as opposed to the company she had on at least one side of her, possibly both.

Wait, those things with the plungers could get up the stairs? Bull. Oh look at that - they levitate.

Okay, the plunger monsters were fun. She liked them, she was big enough to admit that. What were they? Daleks. Daleks are cool. The idiot in the fez was meh.

….

She wanted a sonic screwdriver.

By the time the show had ended, her mug was empty - when did that happen, exactly? She hadn't meant to drink _all_ of it. Just enough to avoid getting an offended spritz of Toxin - and she hadn't become a screaming mess, which was actually an accomplishment for anyone Crane was ambivalent of in the best of terms and "Put up with" at worst.

Laptop packed away, mug replaced by the kitchen sink - she was not an _animal_ after all. At least when her sanity was at stake - Dead Switch was prepared to depart.

'Same time next week?' Richardson asked as she double-checked her equipment. Crane was giving her a glare from behind his short girlfriend. The "Do not disappoint me" kind of stare. 'The cable in this place is just awful and I don't want to miss another episode if some idiot decides to steal it again. I had to get Eddie to TiVo it for me last time but it wasn't the same.'

She remembered that. Edward was spitting that his precious computer memory had been _violated_ by some inane sci-fi show - but was just aware enough to say it when only Dead Switch could hear and it wasn't about to get back to Richardson or Crane. He wasn't one to talk about inane sci-fi shows. She'd sat through the entire series of Battlestar Galactica once, when he was on a binge.

'Sure!' She returned with a brittle smile. Oh god what had she just agreed to? Weekly meetings with Scarecrow and Richardson about the _cable_. Edward had better be nice to her for this for _eternity_.

* * *

A/N: And next week, Harley was there! Switchy had an emotional breakdown, Crane got a kick out of it and there weren't any more Daleks seen on Doctor Who for a while which just sucked. This has been in the works for a while but with commitments ramping up, I haven't yet edited Aper part 7 to within an inch of it's life yet - so why not show this off? Just a little?

Massive shout out to Scary Scarecrows who let me borrow/mangle Kitty Richardson. All the love for someone completely above my level. Cheers, Scary! I went through a _lot_ of ideas I've had on what I could do with Kitty and Switch, but eventually, I settled on showcasing my love of A) making Dead Switch so, so, _so_ uncomfortable and B) Doctor Who in general.

 **Guest:** we're getting there! Slowly. Ever so slowly because hitting your head on the keyboard does not produce anything worthy of the great Edward Nigma. Those rascally kids! Edward will get his revenge on them. _Soon._


	61. Help me!

**Help me!**

Coffee runs were a staple of working with Riddler. Edward had a very precise coffee order and very few people had successfully gotten everything right. At some point, it was like a right of passage to be verbally berated and had coffee thrown at you. Every employee of his had, at one time or another, been drenched in the (wrongly) ordered coffee.

Dead Switch was a master of this ritual and one of the few people who could order his triple pump vanilla syrup pumpkin spice latte correctly. She cherished the coffee runs because they were an excuse to get away from Edward who was, at this point, knee-deep in insomnia again and was becoming a twitchy, bad-tempered asshole.

For that reason alone, she had elected to walk to the coffee shop and back to give herself the maximum time before he went on yet another rant over incompetence and stupidity.

The coffee at least, smelt amazing. There was no smell quite like freshly brewed coffee.

She noted that somewhere close by - there was a screeching of tyres. Police chase, maybe? All the more reason to put a bit of hurry in her step and get away in case one of the dumb beat cops recognised her.

The screeching tyres were getting louder, though. The more she tried to avoid them, the closer they appeared to get.

Dead Switch's innate sixth sense for all things Wrong perked up. Something was screwy here, somewhere. The very second she realised something was up, a battered looking van pulled up sharply to the kerb nearby and large, muscled men began to pile out of a side-door. They didn't look like cops, more like thugs and they were looking right at her as they straightened up and began to move toward her.

Sorry, Edward.

The coffee was immediately weaponised and thrown into the group as she broke into a fast run that would have surprised her high school gym teachers. She didn't spend any time wondering what Edward had done to annoy any of the crime bosses, or indeed, _whom_ he'd annoyed, all her thought processing went on jinking through the crowded sidewalk before she finally dived down an alley.

At this point, many people unfamiliar with Gotham in general would stop and wait to see if they had been followed. This is how many people are, in fact, kidnapped. In Gotham, you _do not_ wait to see if you're still being followed after running. You keep running. Didn't matter where, really, as long as it was _not_ the way that you had just come and you did not stop running for anything. Dead Switch was not a native Gothomite, but she'd lived here for so long now, that it was an instinctual habit. She was intelligent and had seen kidnappings play out far more than was probably comfortable to admit to. Pausing to check you are still being pursued is exactly the point where you get jumped. She kept running, straight into another street and dived down another side-alley. This time she was dodging ill-placed bins and bags of rotten, leaking trash. Somewhere behind her, she heard the men giving chase and was savagely pleased with having been right to keep running. Really - what idiot stopped once they hit the alleys?

It was at this point that a figure emerged from the shadows of a forgotten yard just ahead. She caught the glint of something metallic as it swung into her face.

She skidded, tumbled, ate cobblestone, and rolled to a pained stop in the filth of the alley. Didn't know what hurt the most, her face from being smacked or her legs from the skid.

'Congratulations, you caught our runaway.' Wait, Crane? Despite the pain lancing through her head and various other parts of her body, she managed to crack open an eye. Crane and Richardson were standing above her. Kitty was prodding her shoulder with a length of rusted pipe.

'How's it going, Switch?' Kitty smirked.

'I could be better,' She mumbled in pain as the drenched thugs finally caught up and Crane snapped to them with a glare.

'Glad of you to join us.' He drawled sarcastically.

Okay, so the thugs were Crane's. Must've gotten a new bunch, she wasn't going to ask what happened to the last lot, either. It also did not explain why Crane had sent out a hunting party for her.

'Was the pipe necessary?'

'Were you going to stop?'

Good point.

'If you've given that one brain damage-' Crane warned Richardson.

'She works with Eddie. I'm pretty sure she's already brain damaged, dear.'

Okay, that wasn't called for. At all. Especially since _she_ was the one who'd been chased down and then assaulted with a pipe by a sort of friend.

Crane paused as the thugs got closer and sniffed the pungent air. 'What are you idiots covered in?' He demanded.

'Coffee, boss, she threw it at us when she ran.'

'Grande triple-pump vanilla pumpkin-spice with extra whip and topping.' Richardson guessed. 'Eddie got you running coffee, Debs?'

She groaned when Kitty prodded her with the length of pipe.

'He'll have to wait for his coffee. I require tech-support and he's being pedantic and unreasonable.' Crane replied.

Oh no. Nuh-uh. Playing cable-guy for Richardson during season runs of Doctor Who was all well and good but they were between seasons right now and Crane had literally just admitted to her face that Edward had said no to loaning her out again. 'I fixed your cable, I'm not tech-'

'If you want to continue living without horrific visions of Joker, you will do as I say.' He warned her as he pulled his sleeve back and showed off the hideous glove with vaguely glowing contents of evil malignancy.

….Help. Someone help.

This was Gotham, help was unlikely. The very best thing she could do, right now, was play along and hope that Riddler had worked himself into such a caffeine-lacking frenzy that it had put him to sleep by the time she managed to get away from Crane and Richardson.

'Alright!' She agreed placatingly. 'What _kind_ of tech-support?'

Kitty beamed as Jonathan dropped his sleeve.

* * *

A/N: I continue to dodge around Aper and indulge my love of making Dead Switch's life a misery. Honestly, the thought of poor Debs running from a kidnapping attempt that turned out to be the Spookies needing tech-support tickles me. Edward will not be getting his coffee for quite a while I wager. I may come back to this again, it would be fun to see another rogue's operation from the point of view of someone else's crony.


	62. Aper pt 7

**Part 7**

 _A stopped clock is right twice a day_.

It hadn't take much deduction after that to know where Nigma had taken the two safe-house hostages. The place they'd first tried to imitate him. It was night, now. Bruce has been keeping an eye on the museum but nothing overt has happened. Riddler's too smart to be caught off-guard while setting up.

The museum looked no different on the outside. Small spotlights picked out the ever pervasive gargoyles and points of interest. It looked secure, but with Nigma all things were deceitful. Bruce had watched them lock up for the night, unaware of Riddler's plans. He was going to end this, now. Before more people died. Before he was forced to add more names to the running list of people he had failed to protect from madmen like Riddler.

Inside the lobby, he picked out and put down three thugs that were seemingly on look-out duty. It didn't go unnoticed. 'You're probably wondering why I'm doing this, Batman. Did Oswald tell you? I hope so but that dolt couldn't find the words to express what I'm feeling with a thesaurus in both flippers.'

Nigma's smug voice was coming from the holographic tour-guide. The silhouette of Riddler had replaced the usual Pioneer simulation. It was radiating smugness. Bruce ignored it and stormed down the admissions corridor, deeper into the darkened museum.

Further along, another hologram Riddler appeared. 'I've given you plenty of clues. I've made this simple for you.' He kept walking, but Nigma had taken over more than a few of the holograms, they were everywhere. Of course they were, Bruce had personally signed off on the bill for the "interactive holograms" to help entice the public to use the museum (and more hidden upgrades, besides that) but he'd never expected _this_. 'Of all the sycophants that are attracted to us, we can't stand _copycats_. I wasn't too concerned at first. They thought they could get away more easily with imitating Dent and Cobblepot. My cohorts are, of course, more simple than I am. But then. They thought they were _clever_.' Riddler spat angrily. 'They thought they could be me.' He kept walking and the admissions hall opened up into the large dinosaur exhibit. Another hologram was waiting for him by the doorway. 'They were wrong.' Nigma said simply.

'There he is!'

'It's the Bat!'

Ten thugs around the display, Dead Switch was perched on the largest of all, a full scale replica of Gotham's only Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton. She was smoking unconcernedly, the broken arm wrapped around her ribs with a green scarf.

'This is where they learn they will never be me. This is the line between average and genius, Batman. We are going to play a game of wits as old as time.'

They were here to slow him down, undoubtedly. Wear him down for their boss.

The hologram nodded to the woman perched on the skeleton. She took a long drag of her cigarette and idly, Bruce noted that Nigma must've disabled the sprinkler system for the area to allow her to smoke without setting off the highly sensitive fire alarms.

'You heard Riddler.' Dead Switch blew a stream of smoke boredly. 'Play with Bats nicely, boys.'

" _Computer. Reset fire measures: Dinosaur exhibit."_ He murmured. There was an answering chirp in his ear.

The thugs reacted immediately to the dog-whistle and launched themselves at him. Ten thugs at once was not the worst of what he'd faced but they were all armed. Some with guns, some with knives. All were marginally more intelligent than the average thug since Nigma preferred to cherry-pick the brightest ones from his so called peers. As he took steps back,the thugs moved forward. They weren't giving him room to maneuver. Smart, but not smart enough. Another step was just enough to draw them under a sprinkler.

Dead Switch took another long drag of her cigarette and exhaled, the smoke drifted to the ceiling in lazy arcs.

On cue, the sprinklers burst into life and soaked the room effectively. The most important artefacts were hidden behind glass cases. They would be undamaged by the water, but the thugs and the floor around them were absolutely soaked. Perfect.

He activated his taser gauntlets and punched the nearest thug. The shockwave of electricity spread between them and stunned all ten in one move. They toppled, one after another.

That left-

A screech of indignity reached him as Dead Switch dropped from the dinosaur and threw away the soggy remains of the cigarette. 'You bastard, Bats!' She was wet, furious and still clutching one arm protectively to her ribs.

Dead Switch was a woman, more fragile than any of Nigma's other thugs - especially with that broken arm of hers - but that didn't mean she wasn't as dangerous. She was clever and resourceful to have become Riddler's second in command and stayed there for so long. She wouldn't go down like the others. He felt obliged, given her already injured nature by his hands (she hadn't given him much choice about it, however breaking a woman's arm in two places didn't really sit well with Bruce), to offer her just _one_ chance.

'You're injured, Scott. This doesn't have to go any further. Tell me where Nigma is.'

'You know that's a stupid question, but you asked it anyway. Shame on you, Batman.' She replied as a hand slipped itself into a pocket and pulled out a gun. Unusual, Dead Switch's normal method was to use those micro-bombs she was so fond of, but Riddler must've curtailed their use in this case. He may have been a criminal, but he had respect for history. Information. In this enclosed room, the artefacts covered carefully by glass cases would be destroyed far more easily with micro-bombs than with a simple gun.

The tile on the floor chipped and shattered as he dodged the bullet she fired at him.

'Scott!' He barked.

There seemed to be no use, arguing with her. Once again, he reached for the button hidden inside one of his gauntlets. The lights died almost instantly. The only sounds in the room for a few seconds were Scott's angry breathing and the dripping of the sprinklers.

His suit switched to nightvision and immediately picked up two things. One - Dead Switch was not panicking at the sudden darkness. She'd retreated to the base of the dinosaur and seemed to be listening actively for him. Two - she kept glancing at the set of double doors behind her. The suit's inbuilt mapping system logged it as the Chess Room, named for a giant chess set that had been gifted to the city in the 1700s by one of the city's former patrons. The Wayne foundation had paid for the chequered floor to go with the giant chess pieces.

That was where the hostages were, Bruce was sure of it. He had to deal with Scott, first. The cowl looked up at the dinosaur and a plan began to form.

After a minute, she tried a different tack. 'You know what offended me, Batman?' The fireworks, he'd guessed. 'They used fireworks! Of all the low-grade ways to _sully_ my craft-!' She turned sharply and fired at the tinkle of glass quite close to where he had been. 'They used _fireworks_.' She spat. 'Where the hell did they get the designs? That mainstream trash _The Anarchist's Cookbook_?'

That was why she'd been so agreeable to this, despite the broken arm. Why she'd escaped along with Nigma. She had been just as slighted by their actions as he had been.

After getting no reaction from him to indicate where he was, she scowled. 'Where are you, Bats?'

'Right behind you, Scott.' He growled from the skull and detonated the explosive gel he'd planted on the dinosaur's feet. The replica collapsed on top of her.

The gun skidded out of the mass of bones, eventually slid to a stop beside his boot. His suit registered her as alive in the tangled mess. It was enough to keep her contained at the very least.

Now for Nigma and the hostages.

* * *

A/N: It's only taken me two bloody month, computer troubles and repeatedly begging the writing gods, but this chapter of Aper is finished! Poor Dead Switch. First Bats breaks her arm in two places, then some absolute amateur thinks they can be her, and as they're enacting revenge, Bats ruins her smoke break and drops a dinosaur on her.

Typical.


	63. Christmases Past

**Christmases Past**

Their first Christmas together as boss and chief moron had been spent at Arkham. A hell unto no other, because the heating never worked properly, the cafeteria workers burnt the turkey, the doctors were all too happy to dope you up and leave you drooling into the carpet until the holidays were over and that stupid jingle that Joker sang every year culminated in an all night loud rendition on Christmas eve.

There were no decorations (too much of a suicide risk), there were no presents (contraband), there was no holiday cheer (excitement of any kind is frowned upon). The insane inmates had, at one point, been allowed to decorate festive sugar cookies until Zsasz managed to kill someone with the prepackaged icing pipette. Nobody wanted to sing carols after weeks of "Batmobile lost a wheel". It was an insane asylum. Nobody was feeling particularly jolly.

Suicides went through the roof, as did escape attempts (sometimes it could be the same thing). The list of grievances against the holiday and the asylum was endless, which probably explained why the atmosphere in the cafeteria at lunchtime was practically sombre.

Everyone capable of more than drooling in their chairs contemplated the flambeed meat and cardboard looking stuffing. The "Christmas meal" looked largely unappetizing. Across the table from Deborah Scott, Edward Nigma scowled at his food and pushed the plate delicately to one side with a sneer that indicated he wouldn't eat the wretched scraps in a thousand days of starvation. He had standards.

'Merry Christmas, Boss.'

'Bah, humbug.'

* * *

Their second Christmas was spent outside of Arkham, a feat unto itself. In celebration, she had decked the halls or, at least, the warehouse they were occupying. Mostly in shades of green, as per Riddler's particular taste. Nigma did not seem to realise what day it was, either. She wasn't going to bring it up, but she did leave his present on the bank of keyboards he was using as a pillow and drool catcher. It was hard to find something that The Riddler could possibly want never mind _need_ , so she had taken to making him something. A sweater, to be precise. In green and black. The festive pattern of reindeer the sweater had called for, she replaced with question marks. He was always complaining of the cold and having nothing really tailored to him.

It would surprise many people that she knew how to knit but having spent what felt like a lifetime wiring intricate and delicate mechanisms, she had extremely deft fingers. Working with Edward afforded her a particular expertise in patterns. He wouldn't say anything about it, but actually wearing it would be all the approval she would need.

She found her own present tucked behind the door of her bedroom. A case of high explosives with a green and red box on top. "To my insufferable cretin. Happy yuletide." A surprised smile wound up her face as she produced a knife and ever so gently teased apart the wrapping paper.

He'd remembered. No booby traps presented themselves -this was Edward, you can never be too careful - so she took the risk of unpeeling the thing entirely.

It was a taser.

A pile of explosives and a taser. He knew her so well.

* * *

The third Christmas was also spent outside of Arkham but vastly different. Nigma - Edward - was having a bout of manic insomnia again and was not going to stop just because it was Christmas.

This greatly offended her because Deborah considered she'd earned her right to a silent night and no amount of debate was going to make him stop. So, she did what any reasonably insane individual would have done. She tied him to the bed and simply waited until he'd exhausted himself.

Edward, however, was not going to go quietly into the night. 'You useless, idiot, backstabbing moron! How could you even _think_ about pulling a stunt like this? When I am free - and I will get free, Dead Switch, I assure you - I will make it my utmost mission to make you regret your hideously stupid life choices up to and including the present day!'

'Love you too, boss.' She flipped a page of her book as he thrashed in his restraints.

'I will destroy everything you have ever loved!' Oh god he was doing the villain speech thing again. 'You useless, low-brow peon! How dare you do this to me-' Mmhmm. How dare she. Good god. '-not clever! You are barely brighter than a lightbulb and when the thugs get back-' They won't. At least, for the next 42 hours or so. She's given them two days off in preparation of this event. Seeing the boss like this is not pretty and it's not good for morale. However, it was what needed to be done, so she had done it. The consequences could be extreme, if he managed to break free before actually getting any sleep, but he'll thank her eventually. Well, he won't _thank_ her. He'll just pretend it never happened and things are dandy.

'Hey, boss, fusion food?' There had to be somewhere out there still open at this time of night on Christmas Eve.

'You small-minded, pathetic provincial cretin! Let me out, Dead Switch!'

'Nah.' The clock struck midnight. 'Merry Christmas, though.'

* * *

Their fourth Christmas, they spent outside of Gotham. Somewhere hot, where snow was just a rumour. She'd bought him a custom thermos mug with a suit decal. The question mark pin turned gold when hot water was added and the phrase "Riddle me this" appeared on the bottom.

Edward had bought her a bar. An actual bar. Including all the alcohol on the premises.

No Batman, no Arkham, no Gotham, no snow, no thugs.

Why had they never done this sooner?

'I've just had the most brilliant idea.' Edward mused from the sun lounger next to her.

She turned and stared at him as he sipped from a brightly coloured glass. 'Edward, it's Christmas. Can it wait until tomorrow?'

He flapped an arm and said 'Oh it's not for _now_. For next Christmas.'

'You know Calendar man gets upset when he's upstaged on his holidays.' She pointed out and drained her own drink.

Edward snorted. 'It doesn't take much. Man has no imagination.'

That was true. As long as you kept one eye on what holidays were coming up, you could guess with about 70% accuracy where/when/how Calendar man would strike. She sat up tipsily. 'Sounds fun!' She lied. 'But I'm going to get another mojito. Want one?'

She heard him muttering about unappreciated genius as she walked away.

* * *

Their fifth Christmas…

'I'm going to Arkham wearing an elf hat, I hope you're happy.' She glared at him from under the woollen hat.

'Why? I never made you wear that hideous polyester blend tack.' He returned sharply.

'Oh, I've got an idea, Dead Switch! It's brilliant Dead Switch. We have a _whole year_ to -ACK-!'

'Nigma! Stop trying to choke out Scott!' There was a scuffle in one corner of the van as the guards attempted to pry Riddler's fingers from around Dead Switch's throat. 'Get Back, Nigma! I will tase you!'

'It would have worked!' He snarled as she turned as red as the hat she was wearing.

'You always say that!' She spat back. 'Charred turkey! Joker's carols! _Therapy!_ For Christmas! I told you we should have gone to Mexico -for - the - hol-' She was turning ashen, now, but finally the guards managed to pry him away from her. She slid down, coughing, onto the bench and rasped 'Worst. Christmas. Ever.'

'Merry Christmas.' Edward drawled sarcastically. 'Your present this year is knowing you were right!'

* * *

A/N: I always say this, but I am so busy right now it's unfathomable. This is literally the only thing I've managed to finish in two months. I was going to wait a little longer to release it, but it's practically Christmas, right?

So have 5 years of Christmases in Riddler HQ. Ranging from "I will gut you!" to "Holidays aren't such a bad thing" and then back to "I will _gut_ you!"

They love each other really. Well, maybe.


End file.
